The  Seedy  Gentleman 


by 

Peter  Robertson 


Cover  Design  and  Frontispiece  by   Gordon  Ross 


San   Francisco 

A.  M.  Robertson 


->  U 


Copyright,  1901 
By  A.  M.  ROBERTSOW 


Printed  by 

The  Stanley-Taylor  Company 
San   Francisco 


CONTENTS 


CONTENTS 

TITLE 

LOVE     ...... 

OURSELVES        .... 

WOMAN'S  EYES    .... 

LIFE  Is  A  FAKE 

SOME   HUMAN   WEAKNESSES 

OUTLAWS  AND  OPERA 

THE  USELESSNESS  OF  THINGS 

THE  MORBID  STORY 

HAPPINESS 

MORE  ABOUT  LOVE    . 

'Is  'ART  WAS  TRUE  TO  POLL 

Music      ..... 

THE  NEW  WOMAN 
MACBETH  SEES  HIMSELF 
THE   CLUB  LIBRE 
WEDDINGS         .... 

LIFE  Is  NEVER  THE  SAME  AGAIN 

LOVE  BALLADS 

GHOSTS         ..... 

THE  HUMAN  ORCHESTRA 

A  VISITOR  FROM  THE  SHADES 

THE  MODE       .... 

THE  COMIC  OPERA  OF  LIFE    . 
RAG- TIME         .... 

THE  LAST  ROSE  OF  SUMMER 


PAGE 
I 

13 
23 

33 

43 

S3 

63 

73 

83 

93 
103 
in 
119 
129  . 
139 
147 
155  v 
165  , 
175  '. 
185  J 
193  • 

205  v 

215 
223 

231 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

TITLE  PAGE 

CURIOSITY         ......  239 

MAN,  GET  ON  TO  THYSELF          .         .         .  247 

THE  OLD  LIFE  AND  THE  NEW    .         .         .  257 

HEARTSEASE           .       "-.  '  !  •'V  j  ;    .         .         .  267 

THE  LOVE  STORY  OF  A  SCOT     .         .         .  277 

THE   DEVIL           ......  285 

MADAM   PRESIDENT            ....  295 

IN  THE   BRAVE  DAYS   WHEN   WE  WERE 

TWENTY-ONE      .....  305 

POVERTY             ......  315 

CHRISTMAS            ......  325 


The  Seedy  Gentleman 


LOVE 


ABOUT  LOVE 

It  had  grown  into  a  custom  for  the  little  group  Love 
to  gather  in  the  cozy  room  at  the  Club,  of  an 
evening,  after  the  play,  or  if  they  had  been  be 
lated  down  town,  and,  over  a  midnight  toddy,  let 
the  conversation  have  free  way.  They  had  dis 
cussed  the  topics  of  the  moment  very  thoroughly, 
and  there  had  fallen  a  lull  in  the  talk,  when  the 
Fellow  in  the  Corner  said  : 

"I  wonder  what  has  become  of  the  Seedy  Gen 
tleman  to-night  ?" 

"He'll  be  here,"  put  in  the  Candid  Man,  "for 
I  saw  him  at  the  theatre." 

As  he  spoke,  they  heard  the  familiar  voice  in 
the  hall,  and  presently  the  Seedy  Gentleman  en 
tered  with  a  jaunty  air,  and  in  a  condition  of 
evident  exhilaration.  His  threadbare  suit,  ele 
gant  in  the  fashion  of  a  long  past  period,  was 
particularly  neat;  his  old-fashioned  stock  was 
perfectly  arranged ;  and  his  patent  leather  shoes, 
with  just  a  suspicion  of  a  crack  here  and  there, 
had  been  carefully  polished.  He  dropped  into 
his  easy  chair  with  a  wave  of  greeting  to  them, 
flicked  a  speck  of  dust  from  his  sleeve  with  a 
handkerchief  which  sent  out  a  delicate  perfume, 
stroked  his  white  moustache,  fixed  his  monocle  in 
his  left  eye,  took  out  a  cigar  and  lit  it,  and  then, 


THE   SEEDY   GENTLEMAN 

Love  with  a  long  breath,  lay  back  in  an  attitude  of 
perfect  comfort. 

"Been  in  society  this  evening  ?"  queried  one 
of  the  group. 

"In  good  society,"  the  Seedy  Gentleman  re 
plied  in  a  self-satisfied  tone.  "In  good  society. 
Good  women  are  the  very  best  society." 

"That  depends,"  said  the  Candid  Man.  "Good 
women  can  make  themselves  very  disagreeable 
when  they  like." 

"When  they  don't  like,  you  mean,"  answered 
the  Old  Man. 

"You  are  so  popular  apparently,"  put  in  the 
Cynic  with  a  suggestion  of  a  sneer. 

"The  trouble  with  you  cynical  people  is  that 
you  are  always  giving  yourselves  away.  Your  at 
titude  toward  society  is  cause  and  effect  in  one." 

"We  don't  pose,  anyway,"  retorted  the  cynic. 

"It's  just  what  you  do,"  interjected  the  Can 
did  Man. 

There  was  imminent  danger  of  a  row,  when 
the  Fellow  in  the  Corner  came  in  with  a  query 
that  changed  the  conversation. 

"What  was  the  play  about  ?"  he  asked  the 
Seedy  Gentleman. 

"Oh,  love,  love,  as  usual,"  promptly  replied  the 
Old  Fellow,  evidently  pleased  to  get  a  chance  to 
introduce  his  subject.  "John  !  I  will  take 
something.  Gentlemen,  I  see  you  are  served. 
Yes,"  he  went  on  with  a  swing  that  they  knew 
meant  no  more  opportunity  in  the  conversation 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

for  them.  "Yes,  it  was  about  love.  As  I  said — 
to — well — as  I  said,  that  is  where  the  great  mis 
take  lies." 

"What  mistake  ?" 

"About  love.  The  dramatists  never  do  get  at 
the  truth.  They  always  make  the  right  man  fall 
in  love  with  the  right  woman.  The  fact  is,  the 
man  always  falls  in  love  with  the  wrong  woman 
in  real  life,  and  vice  versa.  You  sit  and  watch 
a  play.  When  the  actors  and  actresses  come  on 
you  know  exactly  what  the  couples  will  be  in  the 
last  act.  They  may  have  lots  of  trouble  before 
they  get  there  ;  but  you  can  tell  that  harmony  of 
creation  which  is  so  noticeably  absent  from  the 
real  thing,  and  so  beneficently  produced  by  the 

playwright.  Now,  let  us "  and  the  Seedy 

Gentleman  lounged  back  in  his  chair  and  swung 
his  left  leg  over  his  right.  "Now,  let  us  con 
sider  this  question  of  love.  Why  should  love  be 
constant  to  one  ?  How  can  love  for  one  be 
eternal  ?  I  met  a  clever  woman  once — thank 
you,  John — here  is  to  her ! — I  met  a  clever  wom 
an  once.  We  talked  of  love." 

"Ahem  !" 

"I  said,  gentlemen,  we  talked  of  love,"  and  the 
Seedy  Gentleman  showed  a  momentary  confus 
ion.  "We  talked  of  love." 

"Have  you  ever  loved  ?"  I  asked. 

"Often,"  she  answered  quite  sadly. 

"Can  one  love  more  than  once  ?" 

"Not   the   same   man.     I   am   in   a   great    diffi- 

5 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Love  culty  about  that,"  she  answered.  "I  am  fond  of 
horses,  and  I  adore  a  man  who  loves  them  and 
can  talk  about  them.  I  am  interested  in  electric 
ity,  and  I  enjoy  a  moonlight  walk  with  a  young 
man  who  knows  all  about  it.  I  like  prize-fights, 
and  a  third  gentleman  is  welcome,  because  he 
goes  to  all  the  scrapping  matches.  I  am  senti 
mental,  and  I  have  an  admirer  who  reads  poetry 
to  me  once  or  twice  a  week." 

"And  you  love  them  all  ?" 

"At  times.  I  couldn't  endure  the  prize-fight 
youth  on  my  sentimental  night,  of  course  ;  and 
the  chap  who  talks  horses  is  a  bore  when  I  feel 
like  discussing  electricity.  But  I  couldn't  get 
on  without  all  of  them." 

"Do  they  all  love  you  ?" 

"That's  just  the  trouble.  They  all  want  to 
marry  me  ;  but  how  could  I  bear  to  have  a  hus 
band  eternally  reading  poetry  or  talking  horses 
or  describing  prize-fights  ?  That  is  the  mistake 
I  find  in  men.  They  are  not  made  with  a  suffi 
cient  variety  of  tastes.  Now,  if  there  was  one 
man  who  was  fond  of  all  those  subjects  he 
would  be  perfect ;  but  even  then  I  suppose  he 
would  feel  like  talking  about  horses  when  I  wanted 
him  to  be  poetic.  If  I  could  marry  as  many  as 
I  liked,  it  would  be  happiness.  Do  you  think," 
she  asked  anxiously,  "there  will  be  some  liberty 
for  women  in  heaven  ?" 

"I  doubt  it,"  I  said  sadly.  "A  woman  never 
6 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

wants    liberty   except   when   she   can't   have   it —    Love 
like  anything  else." 

"Now,  gentlemen,  what  is  love?  There  have 
been  many  definitions,  but  none  have  covered  the 
subject.  For  my  own  part,  I  sometimes  doubt  if 
that  one  is  not  accurate  which  holds  love  to  be 
simply  an  intense  desire  for  something,  quenched 
by  possession.  Sometimes  the  object  has  suffi 
cient  variety  or  ingenuity  of  charm  to  revive  the 
desire.  But,  be  it  of  the  male  or  female  sex,  if  it 
has  not  that  power  the  love  never  comes  back. 
The  lover  tells  the  sweetheart  he  is  always  the 
same  ;  will  always  be  the  same.  Clasped  in  his 
arms,  the  girl  swears  to  the  man  she  will  never 
change.  Gentlemen,  that  is  where  the  mistake 
is  made.  For  myself,  I  could  only  love  a  woman 
who  was  always  different.  Trust  me,  the  woman 
who  holds  the  husband,  holds  him  as  she  held 
the  sweetheart,  by  ever  showing  some  new 
charm." 

"You  seem  to  know  all  about  it." 

"I  know  something,  perhaps.  I  loved  once 
myself,"  and  the  Seedy  Gentleman  blushed  a  lit 
tle.  "I  met,  when  I  was  a  young  man,  a  charm 
ing  girl.  She  was  many  sided.  She  had  refined 
and  varied  tastes.  Every  day  she  seemed  to 
show  some  new  light,  like  the  facets  of  the  dia 
mond.  One  happy  year  we  were  affianced,  and 
then " 

"She  died  ?" 

"No !     She  ran  away  with  another  man.     She 

7 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Love  had  variety  enough  for  several  husbands.  And 
now,  gentlemen,  you  know  the  secret  of  my  ad 
miration  for  widows.  I  may  have  variety  enough 
for  a  second  husband.  But  to  resume.  Love,  as 
treated  by  the  dramatists,  is  badly  treated.  With 
a  broken  heart  a  woman  is  a  tragedy;  with  one 
husband  she  is  a  drama  ;  with  two  husbands  she 
makes  a  comedy  ;  with  three  husbands  she  be 
comes  a  farce  ;  and  with  four  husbands  she 
reaches  farce-comedy.  You  can't  make  a  hero 
ine  of  a  strong  play  out  of  a  woman  who  has 
been  married  three  times.  That  is  all  too  much 
of  a  strenuous  life.  The  ordinary  human  mind 
will  admit  the  possibility  of  a  woman  loving 
twice,  but  she  can't  do  it  any  more  without  being 
laughed  at.  Yet  I  doubt  if  there  is  a  woman  liv 
ing  who  has  not  loved  half  a  dozen  different 
men  in  her  lifetime  well  enough  to  have  mar 
ried  them  all.  The  trouble  is  that  all  men  and 
women  can  love,  but  very  few  can  entertain  one 
another  for  a  lifetime.  The  best  husband  and 
the  best  wife  are  the  best  company  all  the  time. 
It  is  all  very  well  that  George  is  so  clever  and 
so  bright  that  Mary  is  bound  to  be  happy  with 
him.  But  George,  after  he  gets  married,  expects 
Mary  to  entertain  him,  too.  He  might  have 
found  out,  while  they  were  courting,  that  she 
had  nothing  in  her.  He  was  so  vain  he  couldn't 
see  anything  but  his  own  ability,  which  she  kept 
telling  him  about.  Hence,  gentlemen,  parting 
and  pain.  The  divorce  court  was  established  to 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

relieve  exhausted  nature  and  give  love  a  fresh  Love 
start.  Love  is  a  fire,  but  you  have  to  keep  put 
ting  fresh  chips  on  it  to  keep  it  going.  If  you 
don't,  somebody  else  will.  Ah,  me  !  The  woman 
sits  by  the  ashes,  growing  gray,  of  a  life  whose 
warmth  and  light  have  nearly  gone,  and  a  new 
lover  comes  along  with  a  little  bundle  of  shav 
ings  and  starts  the  whole  business  again.  And 
just  as  often  as  the  fire  goes  down,  if  the  man 
comes  with  the  shavings  it  will  blaze  up  afresh. 
Gentlemen,"  and  the  Seedy  Gentleman  got  up 
and  began  walking  up  and  down,  "it  is  a  great 
dispensation  of  Providence  that  love  is  eternal 
but  that  the  object  may  be  varied  ad  libitum.  If 
we  were  compelled  to  love  one  woman,  what  a 
terrible  thing  life  would  be.  If  we  could  only 
say  'I  love  you'  once  in  a  lifetime,  life  would 
not  be  worth  living.  It  is  ennobling  to  love  ; 
and  if  it  be  ennobling  to  love  one,  how  much 
more  ennobling  to  be  able  to  love  all  !  In  fact, 
gentlemen,  when  you  look  into  the  thing,  see 
how  beautiful  it  is,  even  in  that  insignificant  de 
tail  of  concentrating  on  one  at  a  time !" 
"Take  a  soothing  drink,  won't  you  ?" 
"Thank  you  ;  I  had  forgotten.  But  after  all 
everything  is  a  changing  ideal.  The  woman  at 
thirty  wonders  why  at  twenty  she  married  the 
man  she  did  when  she  sees  how  the  other  suitor 
of  the  same  age  has  developed.  The  woman  of 
twenty-five  turns  away  from  the  man  her  more 
youthful  fancy  chose,  and  weds  the  fellow  whom 

9 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Love  at  twenty-two  she  thought  a  fool.  The  man  at 
thirty-five  seeks  the  woman  who  hopelessly  loved 
him  ten  years  before,  and  finds  she  has  changed 
her  ideal,  too.  And  so  the  world  goes  round.  Ah, 
dear  old  Thackeray !  It  has  not  changed  since 
you  sat  at  your  old  table  at  forty  year,  dipping 
your  nose  in  the  Gascon  wine.  Gentlemen,  here's 
to  Gillian,  God  rest  her  soul  !" 

The   Seedy   Gentleman  spoke  quite  reverently. 

"Still,  gentlemen,  we  look  tenderly  on  those 
we  have  loved.  The  little  girl  who  won  our 
hearts  at  school  is  blessed  in  our  memory,  if  but 
for  that  happy  remembrance.  She  jilted  us,  pos 
sibly,  behaved  shamefully  ;  but  the  scent  of  the 
new-mown  hay,  the  summer  sunset  when  we 
waited  and  watched  for  her,  still  belong  to  her. 
We  would  have  forgotten  them  but  for  her.  The 
first  love  letter,  surreptitiously  written,  surrepti 
tiously  sent,  was  never  obliterated  by  cruelty  or 
change  of  later  years.  The  woman  we  loved  in 
the  first  blush  of  manhood  gets  still  a  tender 
glance  of  respect  as  she  passes  by  on  her  hus 
band's  arm.  I  sometimes  think,"  and  the  Seedy 
Gentleman  looked  earnestly  at  the  ceiling.  "I 
sometimes  wonder  if  it  is  not  true  love  that 
keeps  many  sweethearts  from  getting  married  at 
all.  A  man  may  love  a  woman  so  dearly  that  he 
will  not  venture  to  link  his  uncertain  fortune  with 
hers.  A  man  may  be  so  purely  in  love  that  he 
may  be  afraid  the  woman  should  ever  find  out  his 
weaknesses,  unobjectionable  if  they  be.  After 
10 


THE  SEEDY   GENTLEMAN 

all  there  is  something  wildly  selfish  in  the  impet-  Love 
uous  love  that  bears  its  object  blushing  to  the 
altar  ;  something  that  lacks  consideration  for  her. 
There  is  so  much  in  a  man's  hot-hearted  prom 
ise,  his  ebullient  confidence,  that  is  nothing  but 
the  elation  of  conceit.  True  love  is  sometimes 
cowardly,  cowardly  with  that  cowardice  which  is 
nobler  than  courage.  But  God  is  good  indeed 
to  him  whose  first  love  lasts  through  and  fills 
all  his  life.  Good  night  !" 


ii 


OURSELVES 


OURSELVES 

The  room  was  dark  when  they  came  in.     The   Ourselves 
window-blind  was  drawn  up,  and  the  moonlight 
streamed  in  upon  a  figure  rocking  in  a  chair. 

"Ah,  gentlemen,  you  are  late,"  said  a  voice,  as 
the  waiter  lit  the  gas. 

"Oh,  you're  here,  are  you  ?"  said  the  first  of  the 
little  crowd. 

"Yes.  I  was  afraid  you  had  gone  into  the  coun 
try  and  left  this  little  world  to  me." 

"We  Ve  been  watching  the  Convention  bulle 
tins." 

"Well,  let  us  drink  to  the  best  man  for  the 
purpose — the  man  who  wins." 

"I  am  with  you,  gentlemen;  with  you  now 
and  always.  My  politics  are  yours,"  and  the 
Seedy  Gentleman  got  up  and  pulled  the  blind 
down,  and  wheeled  his  chair  round. 

"Let  us  shut  it  out,"  he  said. 

"Shut  out  what?" 

"The  moonlight.  I  cannot  talk  in  the  moon 
light.  It  distracts  me.  It  is  so  beautiful  it 
makes  me  dream,  and  wonder,  and  I  can't  think." 

"Makes  you  poetical,  eh?" 

"It  is  poetry.  It  throws  a  glamour  over  the 
dull  streets,  the  misbuilt  houses,  the  prosaic  city, 
and  makes  you  fancy  everything  is  beautiful.  It 

15 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

is  a  great  service  to  us,  after  all.  It  does  for  our 
commonplace,  dingy  buildings  what  the  love  and 
sentiment  do  for  human  nature — sometimes." 

"Here  's  to  the  man  they  nominate !" 

"Here  's  to  him !  I  have  not  been  to  a  political 
meeting  since  I  took  Daniel  Webster  and  Henry 
Clay  around  last  campaign." 

"What  did  they  say?"    asked  the  Cynic. 

"  'Same  old  arguments,'  said  Henry  Clay. 

"  'Yes,  Henry,'  said  Daniel  Webster,  'the  same 
old  speeches,  egad.' " 

"Daniel  hit  it,  didn't  he?" 

"Oh,  they  stood  at  the  back  and  checked  off  the 
quotations.  It  just  occurs  to  me,  gentlemen," 
said  the  Seedy  Gentleman,  sipping  his  hot  Scotch, 
"that  America  is  the  only  country  where  politics 
form  the  staple  of  undignified  stage  comedy.  In 
fact,  I  don't  see  how  farce-comedy,  extrava 
ganza  or  comic  opera  could  get  on  if  politics 
and  poker  were  serious  questions.  You  often 
hear  critics  wonder  where  foreign  nations  get  their 
ideas  of  Americans.  From  ourselves,  gentlemen, 
from  ourselves !  They  read  our  literature,  they 
see  our  plays,  and  we  can't  be  astonished  if  they 
think  Congress  a  huge  farce,  vulgarity  a  national 
characteristic,  honesty  a  laughing  stock,  and  be 
lieve  that  we  are  proud  of  our  worst  qualities." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  the  Prac 
tical  Man. 

"We  laugh  at  ourselves  too  much.  It  is  very 
amusing,  when  you  are  on  the  inside,  and  under- 
16 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

stand  it;  but  outsiders  are  apt  to  misjudge  our  Ourselves 
character  from  our  humor.  If  we  did  not  con 
stantly  make  a  joke  of  corruption,  of  bribery,  of 
dishonesty,  of  selling  honor  for  money;  if  our 
jests  about  ourselves  were  not,  for  the  most  part, 
rather  vulgar  and  even  insulting,  it  would  not  be 
so  bad.  We  are  not  supposed  to  laugh  merrily 
over  objectionable,  low,  sordid  vices,  unless  we 
are  willing  to  be  accused  of  condoning  them  in 
some  measure.  The  types  of  men  we  select  to 
illustrate  the  humorous  side  of  American  life  are 
not  a  whit  less  offensive  than  the  pictures  in 
'Martin  Chuzzlewit.'  Let  us  forgive  Dickens 
forever !" 

"There 's  something  in  that,  Old  Man !"  re 
marked  the  Fellow  in  the  Corner. 

"If  some  Frenchman  or  Englishman  had  written 
some  of  those  farces  or  comedies  or  novels  of 
ours,  would  we  laugh  at  them  ?" 

"Perhaps  not." 

"I  don't  say  it  is  not  all  fun  with  us ;  although 
we  know  there  are  such  things  as  bribery  and 
corruption.  There  may  be  just  as  much  of  those 
in  other  lands ;  but  it  seems  to  me  that  America 
is  the  only  country  where  we  think  they  are  funny. 
Really  we  have  to  thank  the  foreign  caricaturists ; 
they  have  made  all  kinds  of  fun  over  our  manners, 
but  they  have  generously  avoided  the  coarse  char 
acteristics  and  the  conditions  which  we  joke  about, 
and  which  reflect  on  our  general  idea  of  honor. 

17 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Ourselves  American  humor,  above  all  humor,  sacrifices  any 
thing  to  the  laugh." 

"We  don't  care  what  other  people  think,"  said 
the  Practical  Chap. 

"Oh,  yes,  we  do,  just  as  much  as  anybody  else. 
We  pretend  not  to,  but  we  are  very  touchy.  We 
know  that  people  have  gathered  their  impressions 
of  Romans  from  'Julius  Caesar'  and  'Virginius,' 
and  their  English  history  from  Shakespeare, 
more  than  they  have  from  being  taught  in  schools. 
The  object  lesson  is  always  more  impressive.  I 
think  that  thousands  of  people  now  base  their 
opinion  of  what  goes  on  at  Washington  by  the 
jokes  and  'gags'  in  the  farce-comedy.  They  know 
they  are  an  exaggeration,  but  they  judge  the  fact 
from  the  exaggeration,  and  not  the  exaggeration 
from  the  fact." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?1'  asked  the 
Fellow  in  the  Corner. 

"What's  the  good  of  trying  to  reform  people? 
It  doesn't  pay.  Reformation  is  an  excessively 
disagreeable  subject,  and  really  it  doesn't  matter 
much  nowadays.  Reformation  is  a  luxury  for  the 
poor.  When  we  are  hard  up  or  in  hard  luck,  we 
have  a  vague  idea  that  we  need  to  reform  some 
where,  somehow.  We  don't  always  know  where 
or  how,  but  we  're  satisfied  something  is  wrong 
about  us.  When  we  're  in  funds,  there  really 
does  not  seem  to  be  any  necessity  for  reform. 
When  a  man  is  rich  enough  to  be  above  the  sus 
picion  of  stealing,  he  can  do  anything,  pretty 
18 


THE   SEEDY   GENTLEMAN 

much.     We  don't  need  ten  commandments.     We   Ourselves 
don't  need  any.     There  is  but  one  that  can  be 
formulated,   and   it   does   not   need   to   be   form 
ulated." 

"What  is  that?" 

"Do  not  begin  anything  you  cannot  get  away 
with." 

"Comprehensive." 

"Yes,  gentlemen,"  said  the  Seedy  Gentleman, 
leaning  gracefully  back  in  his  chair,  "there  would 
be  really  no  American  comedy  without  politics 
and  poker.  A  'gag'  on  either  subject  will  be 
caught  and  laughed  at  by  any  audience  in  this 
country.  That  is  why  English  comedy  is  so 
stupid.  Their  political  jokes  are  respectful  and 
dignified.  The  average  'gag'  here  would  be 
ground  for  a  libel  suit  over  there ;  and  they  don't 
play  poker.  It  seems  funny  there  is  nothing 
broadly  humorous  about  whist  or  piquet  or  crib- 
bage,  and  yet  poker  seems  to  be  full  of  jokes  for 
an  audience." 

"It  is  rather  odd  when  you  come  to  think  of 
it." 

"Ah,  well,  everything  has  its  funny  side,  even  a 
funeral.  Life  is  too  short  for  worry.  Sorrow 
comes  and  passes,  and  happiness  is  sandwiched 
in  between,  just  like  real  every-day  sandwiches 
too,  very  little  meat  and  very  thick  bread.  Per 
haps  we  may  be  more  sensible  in  some  ways  than 
our  forefathers,  to  whom  life  was  always  serious. 
I  don't  think  we  feel  grief  any  less;  we  show  it 

19 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Ourselves  less.  We  take  our  chances  of  another  life  with 
much  more  daring  than  of  old ;  the  wicked  are 
less  afraid ;  the  good  have  a  perfect  twentieth 
century  confidence  in  supreme  justice.  The  fact 
is,  we  are  getting  so  familiar  with  trouble  and  de 
ception  and  villainy,  we  don't  mind  them  as  much 
as  they  used  to  do.  We  don't  break  our  hearts 
over  the  girl  who  jilts  us.  There  are  plenty  more. 
Our  friend  turns  out  a  traitor ;  well,  let  him  go ! 
There  are  plenty  more,  for  we  don't  make  friend 
ships  as  deep  as  of  old.  And  we  know  that  human 
nature  is  utterly  unreliable ;  so  we  are  prepared 
for  that.  Time  was  when  sympathy  soothed 
grief  and  dispersed  sorrow.  We  know  better. 
We  are  sensible,  if  less  humane.  We  know  that 
sympathy  keeps  grief  alive,  and  sorrow  left  alone 
bores  itself  to  desperation.  Ah  me,  life  is  so  busy 
we  have  no  time  for  tears,  not  much  for  laughter. 
No,  we  are  not  heartless,  we  are  not  unsympa 
thetic;  only  time  goes  so  fast,  we  have  so  much 
to  do.  We  have  to  attend  meetings,  get  our  meals, 
make  money,  spend  money,  go  to  picnics,  write 
letters — oh,  there  is  so  much  to  do,  all  in  those 
three  score  years  and  ten,  we  have  to  hurry !" 

"Yes,  there  is  a  great  deal  to  attend  to,"  said 
the  Practical  Man. 

"And  what  is  the  end  of  it  all?" 

"Dust!" 

"Yes,  you're  right;  it  is  dust  first,  last,  and  all 
the  time.  From  dust  we  came,  we  live  to  hunt 
dust,  and  to  dust  we  return.  Dust  !  When  it 's 
20 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

all  over  you  can't  tell  rich  from  poor  or  wicked    Ourselves 

from  good  by  the  bones.    It  is  but  a  difference  of 

the  coffin  and  trappings ;   and  more  genuine  tears 

have  fallen  over  the  plain  deal  box,  than  over  the 

gorgeous  sarcophagus.     The  monument  is  for  the 

few  of  us,  though  many  may  deserve  it.    And  over 

the  best  man  in  the  world,  perhaps,  there  may  be 

no  headstone,  no  epitaph.     We  can't  tell.     About 

all  we  can  do  is  to  live  as  well  as  we  can,  and, 

knowing  our  own  human  weaknesses,  deal  kindly 

with  others." 

The   Seedy   Gentleman   sighed   deeply   into   his 
glass,  and  fell  into  silence. 


21 


WOMAN'S    EYES 


ABOUT   WOMAN'S    EYES 

"To  woman's  eyes  a   round,  boys  !"  sang  the   Woman's 
Seedy  Gentleman,  waving  his  glass.     "We  can 't  Eyes 
refuse,  we  can 't  refuse." 

"To  woman's  eyes,  then  !"  said  everybody. 

"Some  eyes  there  are  so  holy,"  went  on  the  Old 
Man,  "they  seem  but  given,  they  seem  but  given, 
as  splendid  beacons  solely,  to  guide  to  heaven,  to 
guide  to  heaven." 

"That's  pleasant  !"  put  in  the  Sentimental  Man. 

"And  some  there  are,  also,"  he  sang,  "with  gen 
tle  ray,  with  gentle  ray,  would  lead  us,  God  for 
give  'em,  the  other  way,  the  other  way." 

"You  're  sentimental,"  remarked  the  Fellow  in 
the  Corner. 

"And  vocal.  'All  the  vocal  and  sentimental 
songs  of  the  day,'  as  the  vender  of  ballads  on 
street  corners  cries  now,  as  he  did  in  ancient 
Babylon." 

"Whose  song  was  that  ?" 

"Tom  Moore's,  I  think.  Tom  Moore  has  been 
one  of  the  few  men  whose  poetry  goes  with  hot 
Scotch,  and  he  was  an  Irishman." 

"How  about  Burns  ?" 

"I  don 't  know.  'We  are  na'  fou'  ;  we  're  nae 
that  fou ',' "  and  the  Seedy  Gentleman  wagged  his 
head  backward  and  forward.  Scottish  drinking 

25 


THE   SEEDY   GENTLEMAN 

songs,  so  to  speak,  sound  of  potations ;  Irish 
are  full  of  sentimental  conviviality.  You  feel  as 
if  the  Scottish  might  end  in  a  hiccough ;  some 
how  I  have  a  dim  idea  that  the  Irish,  if  carried 
on  all  night,  might  develop  into  a  fight." 

"I  am  afraid  the  poetry  is  dying  out  of  liquor," 
said  the  Candid  Man. 

"True,  we  don't  toast,  in  flowing  bumpers, 
woman  as  we  used  to.  It  is  not  that  the  times 
change.  We  change  and  the  times  change  with 
us.  The  fact  is  that  the  sex  is  proposing  its  own 
health  now,  making  speeches  and  singing  'For 
she's  a  jolly  good  fellow.'  The  sex  must  be 
strong  headed,  if  it  does  not  know  it  is  beautiful. 
If  the  women  don't  know  that  they  have  brows 
like  snowdrops,  necks  like  swans,  bosoms  of 
ivory,  eyes  like  blue  skies,  violets,  stars,  seas  in 
sunlight,  and  other  lovely  things  in  nature,  and 
voices  like  lutes,  fiddles,  harps — every  instrument, 
indeed,  except  the  trombone  and  the  bass  drum — 
it  isn't  our  fault.  We  have  told  them  often 
enough.  Since  ever  the  world  was,  men  have 
puffed  up  women,  and  only  in  this  twentieth  cen 
tury,  they  are  beginning  to  get  'stuck  up.' " 

"Oh,  they  've  got  vanity  enough." 

"Vanity  ?  Of  course  they  have.  But  just  think 
how  much  poetry  has  been  written  about  them  ! 
Our  trouble  is  that  they  are  beginning  to  believe 
poetry  and  expect  us  to  live  up  to  our  fulsome 
praise ;  and  their  trouble  is  that  they  are  finding 
out  that  it  was  and  is  all  pure  flattery.  Ye  gods  ! 
26 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

how  men  have  lied,  do  lie,  will  lie  to  women  !" 
"Are  women  always  so  truthful  ?" 
"No,  only  more  ingenuous.     A  woman  always 
gives  an  explanation  that  no  reasonable  being  can 
believe." 

"You  are  hard  on  the  sex  this  evening." 
"No,  I  am  merely  crediting  them  with  a  certain 
amount  of  ingenuity.  They  know  that,  when  they 
have  hold  of  a  man,  he  is  not  a  reasonable  being. 
But  they  are  driven  to  demanding  woman's  rights. 
The  men  of  old  flattered  them  and  told  them 
pretty  things,  and  they  were  content.  Now  the 
struggle  for  a  husband  is  becoming  hard,  and 
they  've  got  to  do  something  for  themselves. 
There  are  too  many  beautiful  eyes  about,  and 
pretty  faces,  and  attractions  of  all  the  female 
kind,  and  success  is  an  uncertain  quantity.  They 
are  getting  tired  of  poetry  and  cake.  They  want 
prose.  The  day  has  nearly  gone  past,  when  a 
man  could  talk  love  nonsense  to  a  girl,  and  get 
her  to  believe  it.  She  says  now,  very  politely  but 
very  distinctly,  'You  love  me  !  Well,  what  are 
you  going  to  do  about  it  ?' " 

"And  there's  a  coldness,  I  suppose." 
"No,  not  at  all.  There  's  always  a  pleasure  in  a 
compliment,    even    when    you    know    it    is    a    lie. 
But   ever    since   Venus    gave   the    shepherd   that 
killing  glance  on  Mount  Ida,  women's  eyes  have 
been  supposed  to  play  a  very  prominent  part  in 
the  world's  history.     I  can't  deny  that  it  is  moving 
to  gaze  into  the  liquid  depths  of  a  pair  of  beauti- 
27 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

W oman's  ful  eyes,  whosever  they  may  be.  There's  no 
Eyes  particular  individuality  about  eyes.  Somebody 
says  that  beauty  draws  us  by  a  single  hair.  Well, 
there  is  a  charm  about  a  woman's  hair,  even 
when  it  curls  up  the  back  of  her  neck.  Yes,  even 
when  it  is  dyed.  No  ;  nature  is  not  always  artis 
tic.  Some  brunettes  should  have  been  blondes  ; 
some  blondes  should  have  been  brunettes.  Some 
women  would  be  justified  in  dyeing  their  hair. 
They  are  the  ones  who  don't  do  it.  Some  hair  is 
very  pretty  when  it  is  dyed — if  you  see  it  with 
the  sunlight  on  it,  and  don't  go  too  close  to  the 
roots  with  your  gaze.  I  suppose  women  dye  their 
hair  because  they  get  tired  of  their  personal  ap 
pearance  ;  they  look  so  often  at  themselves  in  the 
mirror.  After  all,  the  eyes  are  the  power;  but 
no  preparation  that  beauty  doctors  can  discover 
will  put  the  soul  into  them — the  soul  that  makes 
a  man  forget  even  the  eyes  themselves." 

The  Seedy  Gentleman  seemed  to  be  overcome 
by  some  of  his  recollections,  for  he  stopped  and 
sat  musing  a  long  time. 

"Do  you  know,"  he  went  on,  "do  you  know  if 
the  woman  you  love  is  pretty  or  not  ?  Do  you 
care  whether  she  has  golden  hair  or  brown  or 
black  ?  Do  you  ever  stop  to  analyze  her  bonnet 
or  her  dress  ?  Yes,  sometimes  she  strikes  your 
eye  differently,  but,  when  you  have  noted  that, 
do  you  see  anything  much  more  attractive  than 
you  did  before  ?  If  she  is  not  attractively 
dressed,  do  you  remember  that  after  the  first 
28 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

glance?      Haven't    you    met    a    woman    whom    Woman's 
somehow  you  never  seemed  to  see  at  all,  whose   Eyes 
face  and  figure  became  vague  and  undefined  as 
you  talked  with  her,  and  a  kind  of  spirit  seemed 
to  be  before  you  ?" 

"You  're  getting  too  ethereal,  Old  Man.  Have 
another  glass !"  and  the  Fellow  in  the  Corner 
rang  the  bell. 

"No.  I'm  not  ethereal.  The  feeling  that  is 
given  to  beauty  is  not  love  ;  it  is  only  admira 
tion.  It  may  induce  people  to  do  foolish  things, 
absurd  things,  that  are  generally  imputed  to 
love.  There  are  many  different  charms  in  woman 
that  move  men  to  infatuation.  Ah,  me  !  it  is  a 
strange  world  and  full  of  strange  things.  Men 
will  do  more  from  infatuation  than  from  love 
any  time.  But  never  mind,"  said  the  Seedy  Gen 
tleman,  changing  his  tone.  "A  woman  believes 
in  her  eyes.  Bless  her  !  She  thinks  they  're  irre 
sistible.  Sometimes  she's  right,  but,  oh,  how 
wrong  she  is  sometimes  !  Yes,  they  all  believe 
in  magnetism,  but  they  don't  quite  rely  upon  it. 
They  are  clear  and  shrewd  on  the  magnetism  of 
a  pretty  figure,  even  if  the  dressmaker  is  entirely 
responsible  for  the  outline  ;  and  they  know  the 
magnetism  of  a  becoming  dress.  They  have  even 
an  idea  that  there  is  new  magnetism  in  a  new 
bonnet.  That  is  only  for  other  women,  though. 
And  there  is  all  the  trouble.  They  formulate  a 
theory  of  magnetic  attraction,  and  when  they  are 
convinced  they  are  magnetic,  a  man  can  go  and  lie 

29 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Woman's  to  them  without  the  faintest  danger  of  their  not 
Eyes  believing  him." 

"Have  you  tried  it  ?"  asked  the  Candid  Man. 

"Gentlemen,  touch  me  not  so  near !  I  may 
have  said  more  than  I  thought,  but,  I — well,  for 
tunately,  I've  never  been  taken  at  my  word.  But 
I  was  thinking  of  the  eyes  that  draw  'the  other 
way.'  After  all,  it  seems  that  all  is  magnetism  ; 
the  soul  is  the  battery,  and  it  works  most  directly 
through  the  eyes.  Yes,  it  is  the  positive  and  the 
negative  there,  too.  The  woman  is  generally  pos 
itive  before  marriage,  and  negative  after,  accord 
ing  to  all  I  hear.  Matrimony  seems  to  reverse 
the  poles.  I  wonder  if  science  will  ever  fathom 
the  magnetism  of  men  and  women.  Perhaps  ; 
who  knows  ?  We  may  be  able  to  analyze  the 
current,  and  put  down  with  mathematical  precis 
ion  its  force  and  its  effect." 

"You  're  a  great  theorist,  aren't  you  ?" 

"Well,  theory  must  begin  things,  mustn't  it? 
Yes,  gentlemen,  I  can  see  a  new  and  useful  in 
dustry  to  come.  In  all  ages  people  have  con 
sulted  soothsayers  and  oracles  and  fortune-tellers. 
In  the  future  they  will  consult  magnetic  experts, 
who  will  be  able,  when  they  feel  love  springing 
up  in  their  hearts,  to  apply  a  little  machine  to 
them,  and  tell  them  exactly  how  many  volts  of 
respect,  regard,  and  passion  are  combined  in  the 
current,  and,  by  a  mathematical  calculation,  how 
long  love  will  last.  The  enterprise  of  men  may 
even  bring  science  and  the  minister  together ;  and 

30 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

when  a  couple  stand  up  to  be  married,  the  min-    Woman's 
ister   will    start    a    little    machine,    connect    their  Eyes 
hands,  work  out  a  little  equation,  and  say  :     'You 
two  had  better  not  get  married,'  or  'It's  all  right, 
I'll  proceed  with  the  ceremony.'     They  may  even 
get  a  nickel-in-the-slot  machine  that  will  tell  all 
about  love.     I  believe  some  simple  process  must 
exist   for   deciding   such  an   important   factor   in 
human  life." 

"Well — maybe " 

"They'll  take  the  chances,  all  the  same.  A 
great  many  people  know  perfectly  well  when  they 
get  married  that  they  have  no  business  to.  Well, 
there  is  very  little  in  life,  it  seems,  that  we  have 
any  business  to  do.  It's  a  question,  with  most  of 
us,  of  degrees  of  comfort.  It  is  one  trouble,  one 
kind  of  misery,  against  another.  The  hunger  of 
the  heart  against  worse,  possibly,  than  starvation ; 
the  misery  of  unsatisfied  longing  against  the  pos 
sible  unhappiness  of  a  whole  lifetime ;  present 
despair  against  a  happiness,  that  may  pass,  but 
that  may  last.  We  take  the  chance  in  everything, 
in  business,  in  love  and  in  pleasure.  We  take  the 
chance  of  another  life,  and  even  the  atheist  trusts 
in  God  to  forgive  him  if  he  finds  he  has  been 
wrong." 

The  Seedy  Gentleman  drank  off  his  toddy, 
looked  at  his  watch,  ejaculated  "Great  Heavens  !" 
and  went  hurrying  out. 


LIFE   IS   A   FAKE 


LIFE  IS  A  "FAKE" 

"It  is,"  said  the  Seedy  Gentleman,  getting  up  Life 
and  walking  about  the  room,  "it  is  such  a  howl- 
ingly  absurd  world." 

"What's  the  matter  with  the  world  ?"  asked 
the  Practical  Man. 

"Life  is  a  fake  ;  everything  in  it  is  a  fake." 

"You  're  like  the  fellow  in  Dickens  who  took 
life  to  be  a  farce." 

"No,  life  is  not  a  farce.  It  may  be  a  prologue 
in  which  all  the  characters  are  introduced  and 
the  basis  is  laid  for  the  comedy,  drama  or  tragedy 
that  is  to  come.  But  whatever  it  is,  and  I  sup 
pose  it's  something  of  a  dramatic  character,  it  is 
a  fake.  Come  now,  do  you  care  a  straw  how 
those  who  come  after  you  find  the  world  ?  Not 
a  bit  of  it !  There  was  a  time  when  a  man  was 
ambitious  to  do  something  that  would  keep  his 
name  and  memory  alive  with  posterity.  Why, 
Heaven  only  knows  !  Now  we  want  the  present 
and  nothing  else.  We  do  not  build  for  the 
future." 

"What's  the  use  ?" 

"That  is  the  question,  the  ever-selfish  question. 
And  so  we  'fake'  things.  Yes,  we  fake  friend 
ship,  love,  business  enterprises,  everything.  We 
don't  last  ourselves,  and  so  we  don't  care 

35 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Life  whether  anything  else  lasts  or  not.  Not  only 
sufficient  for  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof  ;  sufficient 
for  the  day  is  the  good  thereof.  Well,  well,  it  is 
a  hopeful  age,  a  self-reliant  age,  an  age  that  fears 
neither  God  nor  the  devil,  that  goes  ahead  in  its 
own  way,  and  has  a  perfect  faith  in  its  own  claim 
to  reward." 

"Sit  down  and  take  a  little  hot  Scotch  !"  said 
the  Fellow  in  the  Corner. 

"Thank  you  !  There  are  momentary  pleasures 
that  soothe." 

"Even  if  they  don't  do  any  good  to  posterity." 

"You  don't  know.  They  may.  They  may  hap 
pen  at  a  crucial  moment,  when  we  might  other 
wise  do  something  that  would  do  a  great  deal  of 
damage  to  posterity  or  ourselves." 

"This  kind  of  soothing  pleasure  has  done  a 
great  deal  of  damage  in  all  time." 

"My  dear  sir,  men  can't  balance  good  and  evil. 
They  are  not  in  the  secrets  of  Providence.  But 
it  is  curious  how  close  to  absurdity  real  life  is. 
They  say  great  wit  to  madness  surely  is  allied. 
And  the  most  serious  things  in  life  are  only  by  a 
hairbreadth  removed  from  absurdity.  I  question, 
gentlemen,"  said  the  Seedy  Gentleman  earnestly, 
"I  question  if  sanity  and  sense  are  not  sometimes 
the  abnegation  of  that  reasoning  power  we  are 
so  proud  of." 

"What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"Nine-tenths  of  action,  gentlemen,  is  impulse. 
When  it  is  all  right  it  is  shrewd  sense,  when  it  is 
36 


tHE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAtf 

all  wrong  it  is  unreasoning  foolishness  or  worse."    Life 

"I  suppose  that's  true  to  some  extent,"  put  in 
the  Candid  Man. 

The  Old  Man  rose  again  and  walked  up  and 
down. 

"You  know  what  embarrasses  the  novelists  and 
the  playwrights,  and  the  philosophers  as  well? 
The  motive.  They  have  always  to  give  a  motive 
for  everything.  They  endow  old  maids  with  for 
tunes,  plain  men  with  intellectual  capabilities, 
girls  with  beauty,  women  with  fascination — to 
give  a  motive  for  love.  They  prove  all  their 
dramatic  situations  by  motive.  They  can  do 
nothing  without  giving  a  motive  for  it.  And  yet 
in  real  life  a  million  things  are  done  without 
motive;  tragedies  hang  on  inexplicable  impulses, 
and  people  love  without  knowing  why.  The 
man  in  the  story  who  does  a  good  action  is  re 
warded  for  it  somehow  ;  women  who  sin  are 
punished.  The  fact  is  that  human  nature  is 
meaner  than  most  will  believe,  in  some  ways  ; 
but  men  and  women  are  better  and  more  generous, 
without  any  stimulus  save  their  own  dispositions, 
than  is  generally  accepted.  If  we  reason  on 
good,  we  find  it  is  a  form  of  hypocrisy  ;  if  we 
reason  on  evil,  it  is  inspired  by  some  practical 
cause.  Well,  the  ordinary  mind  exacts  that 
logic  be  satisfied.  And  the  ordinary  mind  is,  as 
a  rule,  quite  illogical  itself." 

The  Old  Man  sat  down  impatiently. 

"Well,  after  all,  if  we  analyzed  everything  we 

37 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Life  would  find  nearly  everybody  more  or  less  de 
mented.  You  see,  we  don't  explain  things  to  our 
selves,  or  to  anybody  else,  much.  The  great  rea 
son  we  have  for  any  special  behavior  is  rarely 
explainable,  so  some  shrewd  human  in  the  earli 
est  days  invented  the  excuse.  The  truth  is,  most 
of  the  time  the  real  reason  is  what  we  don't  want 
to  explain.  There  is  always  a  why,  and  when 
we  do  things,  if  we  are  not  asked  the  question,  it 
is  because  the  motive  is  seen  or  assumed.  It  is 
usually  assumed,  and  consequently,  utterly 
wrong.  Ah,  such  is  life !  Isn't  it  funny  what 
an  immense  amount  of  motive  centers  around 
money  ?  When  a  man  has  money  a  poor  woman 
doesn't  let  anybody  know  she  loves  him,  even 
if  she  does.  They  say  she's  after  his  money." 

"Doesn't  she?"    asked  the  Cynic. 

"I  said  when  she  loves  him,"  answered  the  Old 
Man  with  the  accent  on  the  "loves."  "We  assume 
it  is  only  a  love  match  when  the  woman  is  as 
wealthy  as  the  man.  And  really,  gentlemen,  it  is 
very  hard — a  poor  man  can't  marry  a  rich 
woman  without  injury  to  his  self  respect,  be 
cause  logic  tells  everybody  on  the  outside  that  it 
is  her  fortune  he's  after." 

"You  speak  feelingly." 

"Looking  for  a  motive  again  !  Ah,  we  all  do 
that.  When  somebody  does  something  for  us  we 
have  no  right  to  expect,  we  ask,  even  ourselves, 
what  he  does  it  for.  When  somebody  is  very  civil 
to  us,  we  wonder  what  he  wants.  It  is  wrong,  so 

38 


THE  SEEDY   GENTLEMAN 

very  wrong.  Human  nature  is  not  so  bad  al-  Life 
ways.  There  is  that  sympathy  inherent  in  us,  as 
denizens  of  a  common  world,  victims  of  a  com 
mon  fate,  that  makes  us  wish  sometimes  to  help 
where  we  can.  I  don't  think  there  are  many 
people  who  do  not  feel  a  little  glow  of  pleasure 
over  a  fate  they  have  brightened  by  a  kind  action. 
We  are  mean  and  hateful  sometimes  ;  we  can 
do  bitter  deeds  of  vengeance  occasionally,  and 
gloat  over  an  enemy  in  distress  ;  but  the  worst 
of  us  have  streaks  of  good  in  us.  Character  is 
so  much  of  momentary  mood  anyway.  The  hard 
est  has  soft  spots  ;  the  worst  has  gleams  of 
nobility." 

"What  is  it  Gilbert  sings  about  when  the  'bur 
glar  ain't  a  burglin'  ?' "  queried  the  Fellow  in  the 
Corner. 

"He  loves  to  lie  a'  baskin'  in  the  sun." 
"True,  quite  true!  It  may  not  reduce  the 
offense,  but  the  principle  is  philosophy.  It's  only 
a  question  of  preponderance.  Even  the  drunk 
ard's  wife,  who  suffers  tortures  from  his  drunk 
enness,  bears  beatings  and  curses,  and  forgives 
for  some  other  qualities  that  compensate  for  the 
suffering.  Compensation  is  everything.  Ah  ! 
'Forgive  me'  is  sometimes  the  sweetest  sentence 
in  the  language.  But,  after  all,  life  is  a  kind  of 
a  fake.  We  pretend  to  enjoy  ourselves  most  of 
the  time.  I  don't  know  that  we  often  do,  but 
perhaps,  if  we  had  no  troubles,  we  would  not 
know  what  to  do  with  ourselves.  Life  is  a  con- 

39 


THE  SEEDY   GENTLEMAN 

Life  stant  exercise  of  remembering  or  trying  to  for 
get,  sometimes  both  at  once.  I  think  we  have 
invented  more  new  miseries  than  new  joys.  Civ 
ilization  is  nothing  but  a  restless  spirit,  a  crav 
ing  for  change  and  novelty.  We  want  excite 
ment.  We  must  have  it.  The  days  when  men 
laid  aside  their  business  after  office  hours,  and 
took  their  ease  at  home,  and  sat  in  their  little 
gardens,  and  talked  and  watched  the  children 
play,  while  the  west  was  red  with  the  sunset,  and 
peace  was  on  everything,  are  gone.  It  is  only 
in  the  wilds  of  the  country  they  do  that  now. 
We  have  so  many  useless  ways  of  promoting  the 
welfare  of  the  human  race  now.  The  business 
man  goes  back  down  town  at  night.  He  has  men 
to  see,  and  lodges  to  go  to,  and  all  sorts  of  socie 
ties  he  has  to  belong  to.  He  has  to  go  to  the 
theatre  and  drop  in  at  the  club,  and,  really,  we 
are  very  busy  helping  the  race  along." 
"And  politics." 

"And  politics.  The  world  gets  worse,  in  some 
respects,  instead  of  better.  I  can  imagine  an 
ideal  age.  If  they  had  known  in  science  what 
we  know  now,  in  the  days  of  ancient  Greece,  it 
would  have  been  a  perfect  age,  I  suppose. 
Maybe  they  knew  more  after  all,  even  in  that. 
Gentlemen,  education  is  a  fake  today,  if  any 
thing  is.  Accuracy — even  mostly  erroneous 
human  accuracy — is  of  no  account.  We  are 
told  or  read  all  sorts  of  valuable  information, 
that  is  either  entirely  wrong  or  quite  inaccurately 
40 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

stated.  I  think  if  it  were  all  boiled  down  to  Life 
facts,  we  would  know  very  little  more  than  they 
did  in  this  country  a  century  ago.  The  printing- 
press  gives  to  the  world  the  thoughts  of  men 
who  have  no  business  to  think,  as  it  gives  the 
valuable  studies  of  those  who  have  probed  things 
to  the  bottom.  It  gives  the  wild  and  idle  spec 
ulation,  and  the  proved  and  tried  facts  side  by 
side,  and  to  many  people  the  one  is  as  much  an 
education  as  the  other.  In  matters  of  science  it 
confuses  ;  in  matters  of  art  it  simply  keeps  back 
the  true  development.  Well,  the  fake  is  the  most 
entertaining,  perhaps.  The  truth  is  rarely  as  in 
teresting  as  the  theory  or  the  speculation,  and 
few  can  tell  the  fake  when  they  see  it.  Some 
times  they  prefer  it,  anyway.  I  don't  think  girls 
would  paint  their  faces  if  they  did  not  find  it 
drew  more  admirers.  There  are  women  who  will 
tell  you  it  doesn't;  but  I  will,  if  you  will  permit 
me,  bet  on  the  girl  who  paints,  to  be  nearest  the 
truth.  I  fancy  it  depends  largely  on  the  face 
that's  painted.  Everything  depends  on  some 
thing,  if  we  only  knew  what.  But,  I  admit,  you 
can't  tell  about  women.  They  always  have  mo 
tives — only  they  're  never  based  on  human  rea 
son." 

And  the  Seedy  Gentleman  put  his  hat  on  the 
side  of  his  head  and  strolled  out. 


SOME    HUMAN    WEAKNESSES 


ABOUT     SOME     HUMAN     WEAKNESSES 

"Yes,   gentlemen,"    said   the   Seedy   Gentleman,    Weaknesses 
as  he  pulled  a  briar-root  pipe  out  of  his  coat-tail 
pocket  and  filled  it  from  a  package  of  tobacco  he 
had  brought  out  with  it. 

"Wait  a  minute,  Old  Man !  We've  been  wast 
ing  time.  John  !  Bring  us  some  pipes  and  a 
package  of  smoking  tobacco." 

"Clay  pipes,  sir  ?" 

"Yes,  churchwardens." 

The  waiter  disappeared,  and  presently  came 
back  with  the  pipes.  They  were  filled  and  lighted. 

"Egad,  old  man,  this  is  comfort.  Fire  ahead ! 
What  were  you  going  to  say  ?" 

"I  was  just  going  to  remark  on  the  weaknesses 
of  human  nature." 

"An  expansive  subject." 

"Yes.  I  was  going  to  say  that  the  most  charm 
ing  traits  of  men  and  the  most  delightful  attrac 
tions  of  women  are  weaknesses.  There's  some 
thing  wrong  about  the  man  who  has  no  weak 
nesses  ;  there  is  nothing  attractive  about  a 
woman  without  foibles." 

"Well,  let  us  indulge  our  weakness,  John  !" 

"Did  you  ever  notice  how  the  character  of  a 
woman  comes  out  in  colors  ?  Yes,  the  symbol 
ists  have  already  developed  parallels  in  colors  of 

45 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Weaknesses  all  emotions.  It  is  only  from  the  suggestion  of 
everyday  human  nature  after  all.  Black  means 
grief;  it  is  the  color  of  the  grave;  but  many 
and  many  a  time  a  shade  of  gray  has 
pointed  a  deeper  grief  than  black  or  purple. 
Girls  are  married  in  white — white,  the  em 
blem  of  innocence  and  purity  and  joy.  The 
fashion  has  not  yet  decreed  an  appropriate  divorce 
suit,  but  I  doubt  not  it  will  come,  and  it  will 
probably  be  modestly  expressive  of  disappointed 
expectations  and  high  hopes  for  another  hus 
band.  One  may  even  be  able  to  tell  the  exact 
ground  of  the  divorce  by  the, dress.  And  so  it 
goes.  What  a  genius  the  first  woman  was  who 
covered  a  mosquito  bite  with  a  patch  of  black 
court  plaster  and  made  it  a  beauty  spot  !  No, 
that  was  not  a  weakness,  it  was  an  inspiration." 

"Well,  here's  to  her  !" 

"Yes,  she  deserves  the  toast,  for  she  has  drawn 
more  attention  to  a  pure,  white  skin,  and  more 
attention  away  from  a  bad  complexion,  than 
anything  else  ever  did.  But  I  was  saying,  the 
man  without  a  weakness  is  not  a  good  man." 

"And  the  woman  ?"  asked  the  Fellow  in  the 
Corner.  "She  must  always  expect  consideration 
in  your  arguments." 

"Is  unbearable." 

"Well,  scandal  is  a  weakness  of  both  men  and 
women." 

"In  women  a  touch  of  original  sin,  in  men 
the  most  contemptible  of  petty  vices.  No  ! 

46 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Women's  scandal  does  not  amount  to  so  much.    Weaknesses 

Men  may  talk  of  each  other  as  they  will,  but" — 

and  the  Seedy  Gentleman  brought  his  fist  down 

on  the  table  with  a  bang — "a  man  does  not  even 

need  to  be  a  gentleman  to  despise  the  fellow  who 

tattles  scandal  about  a  woman." 

It  took  quite  a  few  puffs  of  the  pipe  to  soothe 
the  old  man,  who  displayed  unwonted  passion. 

"I  don't  mean  to  say,  gentlemen,  I  think  all 
weaknesses  charming.  The  art  of  success  in  life 
is  simply  the  keen  judgment  of  the  weak  side  of 
men  and  women.  Tell  a  rich  man  he  is  clever  ; 
tell  a  clever  man  he  is  good  looking  ;  tell  every 
body  he  is  attractive  in  some  way  he  wants  to 
be,  but  thinks  he  isn't,  and  he  is  your  friend. 
Yes,  it  pleases  the  poet  to  be  praised  for  his 
verses,  the  painter  to  be  praised  for  his  picture, 
the  writer  to  be  complimented  on  his  work,  the 
rich  man  to  be  credited  with  the  making  of  his 
fortune  ;  but,  you  can  depend  upon  it,  every  one 
of  them  has  his  pet  vanity,  that  is  more  effectively 
flattered  than  that  faculty  which  is  most  openly 
recognized.  My  weakness  ?" 

"Yes  ;  what  is  it — besides — "  said  the  Candid 
Man  pointing  to  the  toddy. 

"This?"  said  the  Seedy  Man,  raising  his  glass 
of  hot  Scotch.  "Trust  me,  gentlemen,  this  is  not 
my  weakness  !  My  weakness  is  to  be  listened  to. 
You  flatter  me,  gentlemen." 

"No,  no !"   said  the  Cynical  Chap  deprecatingly. 

"That   is   what   flatters   me,   and   in   my   small 

47 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Weaknesses  way  I  please  your  vanity,  for  you  can  look  at  me 
and  say:  'Poor  devil  !  It  doesn't  hurt  us  and 
it  tickles  him.'  Ah  !  what  a  luxury  it  is  to  be 
able  to  pity  somebody.  It  is  the  basis  of  much 
charity,  honest  enough  charity,  and  charity  that 
does  real  good.  We  are  all  Christians — some 
times.  But  charity  and  pity  are  both  very  often 
mere  self-congratulation  that  it  is  not  our  mis 
fortune.  Yes  ;  in  thinking  of  ourselves  we  have 
to  think  of  other  people.  Sympathy  is  our  little 
acknowledgment  that  the  trouble  might  happen 
to  ourselves." 

"And  there 's  no  such  thing  as  disinterested 
love  or  friendship?"  asked  the  Sentimental  Man. 

"Love,  no  !  Friendship,  yes  !  Friendship 
thinks.  Love  is  a  sensation.  Love  disinterested ! 
Ye  gods !  what  is  there  more  selfish  than  love  ? 
The  man  would  give  up  everything  for  the  wom 
an!  The  woman  would  give  up  everything  for 
the  man !  Ay  ?  Is  it  so  ?  What  does  a  man 
give  up?  He  sends  her  flowers,  he  buys  her 
presents,  he  takes  her  to  the  theatre  and  out  driv 
ing,  he  accompanies  her  to  parties,  he  goes  and 
talks  her  blind  about  his  personal  qualities.  Well, 
isn't  that  the  greatest  possible  pleasure  to  him? 
He  doesn't  do  any  of  those  things  till  he  finds 
that  they  are  more  enjoyable  than  his  other 
pleasures.  The  woman,  what  does  she  give  up? 
Having  to  beg  her  brother  to  take  her  to  the 
theatre  and  parties,  the  bore  of  forever  being 
hampered  by  chaperones  and  having  to  spend 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

most  of  her  life  chattering  with  her  own  sex, 
or  moping  life  away.  He  gets  mad  if  she  speaks 
to  another  man;  she  won't  stand  his  whispering 
to  another  woman.  No,  gentlemen !  Both  of 
them  get  more  than  they  give  up,  and  when  the 
scale  begins  to  turn  against  one  or  other,  love, 
being  a  practical  business  matter,  exacts  the  last 
cent  of  the  account,  with  interest  compounded 
momentarily." 

"And  if  the  account  is  not  settled?"  queried  the 
Candid  Man. 

"The  thing  goes  right  through  the  bankrupt 
cy  court.  They  get  whitewashed  and  go  into  the 
love  business  again  with  another  partner." 

"And  friendship?" 

"Friendship  is  different.  True  friendship  keeps 
no  account.  But  all  this  human  nature  is  curi 
ous.  It 's  all  up  here,"  and  the  Seedy  Gentle 
man  tapped  his  forehead.  "Love,  friendship,  all 
is  here.  People  fall  in  love  with  other  people 
for  a  million  reasons,  and  the  symptoms  are 
much  the  same.  You  can  go  to  the  gymnasium 
and  be  an  athlete,  and  develop  your  muscles 
as  you  like.  You  can  be  a  sprinter,  or  a  bicycle 
rider,  or  a  baseball  player.  You  may  be  shaped  like 
a  Greek  god.  The  girls  will  all  crowd  to  look  at 
you,  and  you  will  be  a  fad,  as  the  saying  is  ;  but 
some  fellow  without  any  muscle  at  all,  without 
any  particular  figure,  without  even  your  good 
looks,  will  come  along,  and  carry  off  your  sweet 
heart,  and  you  '11  never  know  what  struck  you. 

49 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Weaknesses  It's  all  up  here,"  and  the  Old  Fellow  again 
tapped  his  forehead. 

"How  do  you  account  for  it?"  asked  the  Fel 
low  in  the  Corner. 

"Can  you  tell  me  why  one  man  out  of  a  thous 
and,  maybe,  will  attract  you,  and  you'll  want  to 
see  him  again,  and  have  a  chat  with  him?  Why 
is  it  some  men's  grasp  is  so  thoroughly  welcome 
and  you  drop  another's  hand  like  a  fish  ?  I  hate 
to  shake  hands  with  men,  anyway.  I  think  it 
should  be  a  sign  only  of  the  warmest  friendship 
and  then  only  be  indulged  in  after  long  part 
ing." 

"Once  again — and  the  woman?" 

"That  depends.  When  a  woman  gives  you 
her  hand  held  out  straight,  with  all  the  muscles 
and  the  bones  at  a  tension,  you  don't  like  it. 
That  woman  should  bow.  But  when  a  woman 
likes  to  shake  hands,  it 's  extraordinary  how  hard 
it  is  to  let  go.  There's  your  flirt,  gentlemen ! 
If  there  is  one  thing  she  does  understand,  it  is 
the  long-lingering  half  grasp  that  does  not  hold 
you,  but  will  not  let  you  go.  No,  you  don't 
shake  hands  with  a  man  until  you  have  known 
him  very  well.  You  don't  know  a  woman  very 
well  until  you  have  shaken  hands  with  her." 

"A  shaking  hand  is  a  weakness." 

He  did  not  hear  the  joke.    He  was  thinking. 

"What  difference  is  there  in  people,  anyway? 
Why  is  it  that  out  of  all  you  meet,  one  woman's 
face  will  haunt  you,  one  woman's  voice  will  keep 
SO 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

ringing  in  your  ears,  and  what  she  said  will  be    Weaknesses 
remembered  when  all  else  is  forgotten  ?" 

The  Seedy  Gentleman  stopped  and  looked  into 
the  fire.  They  had  grown  accustomed  to  his 
reveries. 

"There  comes  back  to  me  out  of  the  past  a 
voice  I  shall  never  hear  again,  unless  the  angels 
speak.  I  hear  it  as  I  heard  it  in  the  stillness  of 
the  moonlit  night,  low  toned,  and  sweet  and  soft. 
The  shadows  fell  around  us,  of  dark  yew  fol 
iage,  and  no  breath  of  breeze  was  there  to  move 
them  as  they  lay.  It  was  a  word  of  hope,  of 
brave  encouragement,  spoken  through  tears  of 
parting.  The  world  was  fair  before  me  then ; 
ambition,  courage,  promise,  all  were  there  !  And 
now — I  wonder — if,  under  the  yew  trees'  shade, 
with  the  wild  roses  growing  above  her,  she 
dreams — alone — as  we  dreamed  once — together." 

They  stole  quietly  out  and  left  the  old  man 
alone  with  his  memories. 


OUTLAWS   AND   OPERA 


ABOUT  OUTLAWS  AND  OPERA 

"Give  you   good   even,   gentlemen !"    came   the    Outlaws 
suave  voice  of  the  Seedy  Gentleman.  and  Opera 

"How  are  you,  Old  Man?" 

"The  night  shall  be  filled  with  music,  and  the 
cares  that  infest  the  day  shall  fold  up  their  tents 
like  the  Arabs  and  silently  steal  away." 

"We've  heard  that  before  somewhere,"  said 
the  Fellow  in  the  Corner. 

"Very  possibly.  Everything  has  been  heard 
before.  But  the  night  has  been  filled  with  music." 

"Been  to  the  opera?" 

"Yes.  I  sat  among  the  gods  and  breathed  the 
perfume  of  the  goddesses  below  me.  The  strains 
of  music  bore  the  odors  of  a  million  scents 
and " 

"Oh,  for  heaven's  sake,  take  something  to 
drink !" 

"Gentlemen,  you,  too,  crush  the  poetry  out  of 
life.  But — well — there  are  compensations.  I  drink 
to  you." 

He  waved  his  toddy  vaguely  around  the  circle. 

"Gentlemen,  I  like  outlaws,  especially  comic 
opera  outlaws.  There  is  a  whole-souled  geniality 
about  them  that  condones  their  horrible  occupa 
tion.  True,  I  never  saw  outlaws  of  that  kind,  ex- 

55 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Outlaws  cept  when  they  were  in  a  kind  of  festive  mood. 
and  Opera  Outlaws  apparently  all  sing  well,  and  have  a  good 
time,  though  how  they  get  on  in  real  life,  when 
they  have  no  composer  to  write  music  for  them, 
and  no  conductor  to  lead  them,  and  no  orchestra 
to  accompany  them,  I  don't  know.  There  is  a 
singular  attraction,  for  people  who  work  for 
wages,  about  outlaws.  Gentlemen,  we'd  all  be 
outlaws  if  we  weren't  afraid  of  our  necks.  Only 
there  would  be  nobody  to  stand  up  then." 

"Stand  one  another  up  !  That's  about  what 
many  of  us  do,  anyway,"  put  in  the  Candid  Man. 

"Then  you  would  make  the  outlaw's  life  unsafe 
and  uncomfortable.  Still,  it  was  the  early  way 
of  living,  'that  he  shall  take  who  has  the  power, 
and  he  shall  keep  who  can.'  As  you  sail  up  Loch 
Lomond,  gentlemen,  the  captain  of  the  steamer 
will  point  out  to  you,  on  a  rocky  hillside,  a  hole. 
It  is  the  entrance  to  Rob  Roy's  cave.  The  Scotch 
people  like  Rob  Roy,  as  the  English  people  like 
Robin  Hood.  Why?  They  were  unconvention 
al,  picturesquely  unconventional.  They  are  sup 
posed  to  have  assisted  the  poor.  It  has  never  been 
much  of  a  sin  to  rob  rich  men.  You  see  so  many 
people  never  grow  rich,  that  a  rich  man  has  al 
ways  the  suspicion  attached  to  him  of  having 
acquired  unjustly  what  does  not  belong  to  him." 

"We  are  moderately  safe,  aren't  we?"  said  the 
Fellow  in  the  Corner. 

"I  am  perfectly  safe,  but  I  could  stand  a  little 
56 


THE   SEEDY   GENTLEMAN 

suspicion,  at  that  cost.  But  the  ordinary  human  Outlaws 
is  very  undramatic.  He  will  not  do  for  opera,  and  Opera 
How  could  you  make  a  man  operatic  who 
gets  up  in  the  dark,  and  dresses  himself,  shiver 
ing,  and  steals  out  of  the  house  to  get  to  his 
business,  and  potters  about  all  day  to  make  a 
few  dollars  out  of  somebody  else?  But  just  see 
the  outlaw,  rising  with  the  dawn  breaking  over 
the  tree  tops,  and  slinging  his  bow  and  arrow, 
and  strutting  out  to  waylay  some  merchant  trav 
eling  along  with  his  ill-gotten  gains,  killing  a  deer 
on  the  way,  and  carrying  it  on  his  brawny  should 
ers  into  camp  for  his  breakfast !  How  much  bet 
ter  this  is  than  the  city  outlaw  who  is  hired  for 
ten  hours  a  day  to  sell  poor  stuff  at  big  prices  to 
simple  customers !  Ah,  yes,  there  are  many  peo 
ple  in  the  world  who  work  from  eight  o'clock 
in  the  morning  till  six  at  night  to  earn  enough 
money  to  be  honest  the  other  few  hours  of  the 
practical  day.  No,  we  don't  improve  much  op- 
eratically." 

"Perhaps  it's  a  good  thing." 

"Well,  perhaps  it  is.  It  seems  to  me  the 
music  is  dying  out  of  real  life.  The  village  maid 
of  old  had  music  in  her;  the  rural  swain  seemed 
to.  sing  his  love;  the  quaint  old-fashioned  lan 
guage  had  roll  and  rhythm  in  it.  Everything  in 
social  life  was  more  or  less  rhythmic.  Every  day 
we  grow  less  and  less  musical,  until  we  shall 
have  nothing  *hat  will  fit  music  at  all,  and  opera 

57 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Outlaws    will   die   out.     When  the  world   was   new,   and 

and  Opera    peaceful,  and  beautiful,  men  heard  the  music  of 

the  spheres  and  their  souls  took  up  the  strain " 

"Hold  on — have  another  !" 

"I  suppose  I  must,  but  you  do  crush  me  this 
evening.  Now,  let  us  look  at  things  !  What  is 
there  in  life  that  suits  an  opera  now?  Only  what 
is  silent  in  all  hearts — only  the  unspoken,  the  un 
speakable.  Can  the  chatter  of  the  conversation 
at  a  reception  now  ever  fit  itself  to  anything  but 
a  kind  of  gallop  accompaniment  ?  Is  there  any 
thing  about  a  marriage  that  Wagner  or  Mendels 
sohn  would  write  a  wedding  march  for?  The 
joy  that  used  to  fill  the  maiden's  heart  when  she 
pledged  her  faith  at  the  altar  is  clouded  by  dim 
recollections  of  the  experience  of  others  who  have 
gone  before  her,  all  published  in  the  newspapers. 
Is  there  anything  really  solemn  about  a  funeral  ? 
Play  the  dead  march;  let  the  brass  bang  out, 
and  beat  the  hollow  drum  !  The  man  is  dead  ; 
he  is  better  off.  And  many  of  the  passers  by, 
as  they  look  at  the  funeral  cortege,  far  from 
feeling  a  pity,  gaze  wistfully  at  the  coffin  and 
say,  'I  wish  I  were  there  !' " 

"What's  the  matter  with  you,  tonight?" 

"I  don't  know,  gentlemen.  Sometimes  when  I 
see  something  very  beautiful,  when  I  look  on 
a  charming  picture,  or  when  the  perfumes  of  a 
garden  of  lovely  flowers  float  around  me,  I  re 
sent  them  all,  for  the  contrast  of  sorrow  and 
58 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

trouble  there  is  in  life.    I  don't  wish  I  were  dead ;    Outlaws 
but  somehow   I  think  there  must  have  been  an    and  Opera 
age    when    nature,    like    an    orchestra,    played    a 
soft  accompaniment  to  life,  and  even  the  misery 
of  existence  was  soothed  by  some  celestial  music." 

They  let  him  go.  He  looked  far  into  the  blaze 
and  wandered  on. 

"Yes ;  there  is  music  still.  There  must  be 
music  while  there  is  a  soul.  It  is  a  music  that 
knows  nor  note  nor  scale,  nor  sharp  nor  flat  nor 
natural,  nor  beginning  nor  end,  nor  even  a  pause. 
It  cannot  be  written  down,  but  it  must  be  heard. 
It  is  the  inner  voice  of  men  and  women  that 
sings,  to  themselves  alone,  the  paean  of  their  tri 
umph,  the  wail  of  their  despair,  the  high  march 
of  successful  ambition,  the  dirge  of  disappointed 
hopes,  the  sweet  song  of  love,  the  recitative  of 
rage,  the  pathetic  strain  of  the  broken  heart. 
Sometimes  composers  of  genius  have  seized  it 
and  given  it  voice.  Did  you  ever  think  why  that 
strain  of  Marguerite's  in  Faust's  embrace  that 
almost  closes  the  garden  scene  in  Gounod's  opera, 
clings  so  tenaciously  to  the  memory?  Do  you 
not  hear  in  it  the  soul  of  a  woman  being  carried 
away  by  a  passion  beyond  her  control — a  pas 
sion  she  seems  to  feel  will  end  in  despair?  What 
need  of  words  ?  What  language  could  translate 
it  ?  Language  was  never  made  for  communion 
with  ourselves.  Yes  ;  there  is  music  still,  that 
always  was,  that  always  will  be." 

59 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Outlaws       The  Seedy  Gentleman  seemed  to  be  thinking  all 
and  Opera    to   himself,   but  presently  he  pulled  himself  to 
gether. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  gentlemen.  We  were  talk 
ing  of  the  opera.  The  trouble  about  music  is 
that  it  has  a  tendency  to  become  professional. 
I  think  music  was  originally  intended  to  be  a 
pleasant  accessory  of  life  until  somebody  struck 
the  idea  of  hiring  musicians.  Then  it  became  a 
profession,  and  now  it  is  a  trade.  Yes,  singers 
used  to  sing  with  people;  now  they  sing  to  them. 
How  many  good  voices  there  are  and  how  few 
can  sing !  And,  as  for  music,  when  we  come  to 
the  late  tuneless  kind  of  thing  that  takes  odd 
drops  when  you  don't  expect  them,  and  rises  when 
you  are  not  prepared  for  it,  I  think  we  are  get 
ting  away  into  the  mechanical.  Indeed,  most  of 
the  music  of  today  sounds  as  if  it  were  very 
machine-made.  What  is  it  makes  us  thrill  in 
music,  anyway?  I  have  stood  beside  a  pretty 
woman  while  she  sang  the  'Ave  Maria,'  so  full 
of  devotional  spirit  that  I  could  see  an  altar  and 
the  Madonna  and  the  angels.  I'm  sure  she,  too, 
saw  all  that.  That  is  music.  I  have  heard  her 
sing  a  little  love  song  so  that  she  could  persuade 
you  that  she  was  singing  of  you,  of  you,  till  you 
felt  you  must  really  respond  to  her  love — a  pleas 
ant  duty.  Ah,  it  is  curious  what  a  gift  of  real 
emotion  some  people  have  !  They  can  feel 
the  most  intense  passion  for  nobody;  they  can 
60 


THE   SEEDY   GENTLEMAN 

love  without  even  an  image  in  their  hearts.     It    Outlaws 

is   poetry  ;    that   is   all  !     It   is   perfectly   honest,    and  Opera 

The  young  woman  who  sings  'Robin  Adair'  with 

tears  in  her  voice,  and  looks  at  you  so  pleadingly, 

if   you   happen   to   catch   her   eye,    is    dangerous. 

You  think  she  has  a  soul ;    and  there  is  nothing 

so  attractive  as  a  soul.     Loves  ?     Not  a  bit  of  it. 

The  moment  she  falls  in  love  it's  all  over.     She 

can    never    sing    'Robin    Adair'    like   that    again. 

That  is  the  secret  of  the  success  of  a  singer  very 

often.     'How   he   must   love  !'   the   woman   says, 

when  the  tenor  is  flooding  the  stage  with  silver 

notes.     She   is    disappointed   when   she   sees   him 

eat    supper   at   the   restaurant   later.     The  young 

man,  with  his  heart  yearning  for  sentiment,  falls 

to  madly  dreaming  of  the   soprano,  whose  eyes 

have    gazed    love   passion   into   the   tenor's    high 

C,  and  wishes  she  could  love  him  like  that.    Very 

likely  she  could.     She  has  loved  many  like  that." 

"Have  you  been  trying  a  little  yourself?" 

"Urn— I  used  to." 

"How  did  you  succeed?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"You  don't  know?" 

"No.  When  we  met  she  seemed  to  have  been 
thinking  of  me  ever  since  we  parted,  and  when  we 
parted  as  if  she  had  not  thought  of  me  ever  since 
we  had  met." 

The  old  man  laughed  into  his  glass,  and 
changed  the  conversation. 

61 


THE   USELESSNESS    OF   THINGS 


THE    USELESSNESS  OF  THINGS 

"It  is  moist  without,  gentlemen,"  said  the  Seedy    Uselessness 
Gentleman.      "Pardon" — and    he    looked    at    his    of  Things 
shabby  suit,  a  little  wet,  and  his  boots,  which  had 
suffered.    "Pardon  this  muddy  vesture  of  decay." 
"Pull  up  a  chair  to  the  fire,  Old  Man !" 
"Thank  you.     John,  yes,   as   usual."     The  Old 
Man  put  his  wet  feet  up  to  the  fire  and,  after  a 
little,  began  quite  irrelevantly,  as  he  often  did. 

"Ah,  well,  the  longer  I  live  the  more  it  amuses 
me  to  think  of  the  absolute  uselessness  of  ev 
erything." 

"The  uselessness  of  everything  ?" 
"Perhaps  not  everything ;  but  here  is  a  man 
who  has  devoted  his  entire  life  to  manipulating 
railroads  !  He  dies,  his  heirs  dispute  his  will, 
the  lawyers  get  rich  ;  and  he,  where  is  he  ?  No 
body  knows.  There  are  no  railroads  in  the  other 
world.  What  can  he  do  ?  Here  's  a  fellow  who 
has  spent  fifteen  hours  a  day  for  fifty  years  in 
vesting  and  reinvesting  in  real  estate  and  keep 
ing  track  of  his  money.  They  put  him  in  a  cof 
fin  and  bury  him.  Of  what  use  is  he  in  the 
next  world?  There  is  no  real  estate  there.  Here's 
a  girl  who  spends  all  her  time  playing  the  pi 
ano.  She  passes  away.  She  goes  to  heaven, 

65 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Uselessness   and  there  are  no  pianos  there.     What  will  she 
of  Things   do  ?     She  can  't  play  the  harp." 

"The  other  night  you  were  full  of  music,"  re 
marked  the  Fellow  in  the  Corner. 

"Oh,  that's  different.  The  piano  is  not  neces 
sarily  music." 

"Who  is  the  girl  who  used  to  sing  the  'Ave 
Maria'  to  you?" 

"That,  gentlemen,  is  the  music  of  the  future. 
But  can  you  fancy  a  civil  engineer  in  a  purely 
spiritual  world  ?  Imagine  the  loneliness  of  the 
pawnbroker  with  no  money  to  lend  and  nothing 
to  lend  it  on  !  Fancy  the  miser  in  the  streets  of 
gold  —  and  gold  worth  nothing  at  all !  What 
will  the  street  contractor  do?  And  how  wretched 
the  Congressman  will  be  where  he  hasn't  a 
word  to  say  about  legislation !  The  society  ladies 
will  have  the  best  of  it.  There  can  never  be  a 
form  of  existence  where  the  society  women  can 
not  talk  gossip.  It  isn't  like  the  'School  for 
Scandal'  here,  gentlemen.  There  Sir  Peter  left 
his  character  behind  him.  That  is  all  we  can  take 
away  when  we  go  from  this  life." 

"Well,    that 's    something,    anyway." 

"Yes;  it  is  the  staple  of  social  life  and  con 
versation.  After  several  thousands  of  years'  ex 
perience,  gentlemen,  we  are  reaching  the  real  value 
of  scandal.  It  is  simply  the  protest  of  the  con 
ventional  against  the  unconventional.  I  think 
if  we  might  glance  at  the  book  of  the  Recording 
66 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Angel,  we  would  find  many  and  many  a  sin  stand-    Usclessncss 
ing  on   the   credit   side   of  the   sinner's   account,    of  Things 
But,  gentlemen,  we  are  here  to  stay  till  we  are 
called,  and  I  drink  to  you,"  said  the  Seedy  Gen 
tleman,  as  he  raised  his  glass. 

"Yes,"  he  went  on,  "things  may  be  useless,  but 
some  of  them  are  pleasant  and  some  of  them  are 
intensely  interesting.  Was  it  not  because  the  idea 
of  civilization  had  not  entered  the  mind  of  man 
that  our  progenitors  lived  so  long?  True,  they  had 
brutal  murder  in  the  first  of  families,  and  Noah 
got  drunk  even  before  the  deluge.  They  robbed 
and  rioted  and  rebelled  and  fought  in  the  first 
years  of  creation  almost,  but  they  did  it  all  after 
a  simple,  open,  intelligible  fashion.  In  the  modern 
tragedy,  the  modern  comedy  of  life,  it  is  cease 
less,  intense  struggle.  We  cannot  live  the  years 
of  our  forefathers.  Fancy  a  couple  of  hundred 
years  of  the  intense  pressure  of  life  today  !  No, 
we  couldn't  stand  it.  Ah,  me !  Now  when  the 
years  begin  to  count  over  the  three  score  and 
ten,  men  and  women  alike  are  glad  to  be  taken 
away.  In  another  century,  gentlemen,  a  man  will 
be  old  at  fifty,  if  this  goes  on." 

"And  the  women  ?"  asked  the  Sentimental 
Man. 

"Bless  them !     They  only  grow  younger.     Yes, 

care  and  trouble  that  harden  the  hearts  of  men 

soften  the  hearts  of  women.     Ah,  me !     The  old 

lady  cannot  dance  and  cannot  take  her  part  in  the 

67 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Uselessness  gayety  of  youth,  but  she  will  sit  up  all  night  wait- 
of  Things  ing  for  her  daughter  to  come  home  from  a  ball, 
only  to  see  the  glow  of  pleasure  on  the  girlish 
face,  Old  men  never  quite  get  over  an  envy  of  the 
young  men.  Women  live  so  much  more  in  the 
happiness  of  others,  anyway." 

"You  are  sentimental  suddenly." 

"You  touched  the  chord,  my  friend.  I  have 
often  thought,  in  watching  the  moving  pictures, 
that  the  very  good  woman  is  never  out  of  draw 
ing  ;  the  very  good  man  always  is.  The  woman 
lends  herself  always  to  embellishment.  You  can 
not  put  a  touch  of  tenderness,  of  sympathy,  of 
grace,  of  charm  of  any  kind  on  a  good  woman 
that  she  will  not  carry  off  with  complete  natural 
ness.  But  you  can't  polish  up  a  man  without 
spoiling  him.  You  may  paint  a  La  France  rose 
on  a  gunny  sack,  but  it  will  not  be  a  success. 
The  texture  is  too  rough." 

"Still,  a  man  can  wear  a  La  France  rose  in 
his  buttonhole,"  remarked  the  Fellow  in  the 
Corner. 

"Yes ;  invariably  the  sign  of  a  woman.  The 
man  who  buys  boutonnieres  is  effeminate.  But 
when  a  pretty  girl  puts  a  flower  in  your  coat  she 
leaves  a  haloing  influence  there." 

"Hello  !" 

"I  said  'haloing/  gentlemen.     She  does  it  out 

of  a  kind  of  mischief  half  the  time,  of  course. 

It  is  pretty  mischief.     She  '11  do  it  out  of  spite 

sometimes;    do   it  to  annoy  another  girl,   do   it 

68 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

to  annoy  another  man.  But  you  don't  mind.  It  Uselessness 
is  a  compliment.  Ah,  yes  !  They  're  queer  things,  of  Things 
girls.  No  two  alike,  and  no  one  the  same  all 
the  time.  Oh,  I  have  been  young,  and  they  don't 
change.  Flowers  grew  when  I  was  a  boy,  and 
coats  had  buttonholes,  and  there  never  was  an 
age  when  girls  did  not  decorate  their  sweethearts. 
But,  to  return,  life  seems  to  be  a  kind  of  unintel 
ligible  muddle,  and  everything,  its  tragedy,  its 
comedy,  its  love,  its  seriousness,  all  appear  when 
we  have  gone  through  them,  to  have  been  useless. 
It's  a  funny  conglomeration.  Roses  and  lilies  of 
the  valley  and  violets  and  chrysanthemums  make  a 
picture  around  a  plate  of  soup  or  a  cut  of  roast 
beef.  Mustard  in  silver,  vinegar  in  elegant  cut 
glass,  and  fine  Burgundy  in  a  black  bottle !  Girls 
with  their  young  complexions  hidden  in  powder, 
and  old  ladies  with  their  careworn  wrinkles  honest 
and  open  to  the  world !  The  fine  gentleman  is 
helped  into  the  hack  by  his  friends,  and  the  poor 
drunk  is  borne  to  the  police  station,  and  it 's  the 
same  whisky.  There  are  the  dinner  at  fifteen 
dollars  a  plate  and  the  four  dishes  for  a  quarter 
side  by  side,  and  it  is  the  toss-up  of  a  penny 
which  of  the  two  men  gets  the  one  or  the  other. 
One  man's  money  rolls  in ;  another  has  to  hunt 
for  it  every  minute  of  his  waking  hours ;  and 
when  the  end  comes,  nobody  cares  or  can  tell 
which  of  them  was  happiest  or  most  useful,  or  if 
there  was  any  use  in  either  of  them." 
"Oh,  I  don't  know." 

69 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Uselessness  "Our  curiosity  cannot  follow  other  people 
of  Things  beyond  the  grave.  It  is  all  beyond  our  poor  finite 
imagination.  Reason  stops  at  the  veil  that  only 
the  dead  may  draw.  We  are  like  those  moving 
photographs — we  are  visible  in  a  feverish  kind  of 
action  for  a  few  minutes,  and  suddenly — in  the 
middle  of  a  step — we  disappear.  Our 
curiosity  has  changed  of  late  years.  There  was  a 
time  when  people  gazed  at  the  heavens  in  wonder 
and  awe,  and  respected  nature  as  a  great  secret. 
The  ways  of  Providence  were  inscrutable.  The 
scientific  man  locked  himself  in  a  dark  laboratory, 
and  the  simple  world  believed  it  was  the  devil  he 
was  hobnobbing  with.  Even  he  had  a  dim  dread 
that  some  time,  during  his  wicked  experiments, 
the  Creator  would  step  in  suddenly  and  annihilate 
him  for  his  impertinence.  We  have  changed  all 
that.  Our  curiosity  has  the  self-sufficient  charac 
teristic  of  the  age.  The  artist  looks  at  his  canvas 
and  says  to  himself :  'Ah,  nature  can't  produce 
a  landscape  as  beautiful  as  that !'  The  dramatist 
says  :  'Here  is  a  character  superior  to  any  article 
of  mere  human  nature.'  The  scientific  man  puts 
on  his  spectacles  and  gazes  critically  on  the  mys 
terious  phenomena  and  says :  'It  is  extraordinary, 
but  you  can't  fool  me !  I  can  explain  all  that 
away.'  I  think  a  great  many  people  believe  that 
the  great  telescopes  are  failures  because  the  as 
tronomers  have  not  yet  found  some  way  of 
plastering  advertisements  of  soap  and  stuff  over 
the  heavenly  bodies  ;  and  introducing  American 
70 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

manufactures  there.    The  spots  on  the  sun  would    Uselessness 
be  intensely  interesting  if  they  could  be  attributed   of  Things 
to  the  tariff  bill." 

"Yes.  We  are  practical,"  said  the  Practical 
Man,  sententiously. 

"Death  is  a  question  for  the  undertaker;  life  is 
a  matter  for  the  dry  goods  stores,  the  meat 
markets,  the  money-makers.  A  baby  represents 
so  much  a  week  to  the  trades  people ;  a  wedding 
means  so  much  to  be  spent  in  bridal  dresses, 
jewelry,  and  presents.  Everything  goes  into  a 
money  value.  And  the  philosophers,  unable  to 
find  any  earthly  reason  why  we  should  be  here 
at  all,  make  one,  and  pretend  that  God  created  us 
as  a  kind  of  commission,  specially  to  investigate 
Him  and  His  works."  And  the  Seedy  Gentleman 
waved  his  hand  to  them  and  went  home. 


THE  MORBID  STORY 


ABOUT   THE    MORBID    STORY 

"I  see,"  said  the  Seedy  Gentleman,  looking  up    The  Morbid 
suddenly,  "they  are   still  putting  up  the  morbid    Story 
play  and  story." 

"Only  to  be  knocked  down,"  said  the  Fellow 
in  the  Corner. 

"I  wonder  if  the  time  can  ever  come  when  the 
seamy  side  of  life  will  be  fashionable  wear," 
went  on  the  Old  Man.  "What  is  the  use  of  put 
ting  it  on  exhibition  all  the  time?  What  good 
can  it  possibly  do?" 

"You  are  off  on  the  decadence  of  the  world 
again,"  said  the  Cynic. 

"Pardon  me!"  answered  the  Seedy  Gentleman. 
"I  leave  that  entirely  to  you.  I  think  those  who 
want  everything  in  literature  and  drama  to  be 
dull  and  heavy  and  serious,  are  about  as  far  off 
on  the  one  side  as  the  neurotic  dramatists  and 
novelists  are  on  the  other." 

"They  are  both  'to  the  fore'  yet.  I  don't  be 
lieve  we'll  ever  lose  either,"  put  in  the  Fellow 
in  the  Corner. 

The  Old  Man  nodded  assent,  and  continued : 

"I  like  to  read  the  ponderous  dignified  argu 
ments  about  the  decadence  of  the  stage.  I  like 
to  read  the  diatribes  of  those  who  deplore  the 
death  of  Shakespeare  and  Sheridan,  and  who  are 

75 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

The  Morbid    always  regretting  that  the  public  should  waste  so 

Story    much  time  on  unintellectual  plays,  laugh  at  little 

bits  of  funny  dialogue,  and  enjoy  merry  music ; 

all    because    those    wicked    things    don't    preach 

sermons." 

"You  do  something  like  that  yourself  once  in  a 
while,"  commented  the  Candid  Man. 

"I  suppose  I  do — in  a  way.  But,  gentlemen,  I 
trust  I  am  willing  to  obey  Shakespeare's  injunction 
and  leave  his  bones  where  they  are;  and  as  for 
Sheridan,  God  bless  him!  he  was  a  charming, 
erratic  Irishman,  and  never  had  the  least  idea 
of  teaching  anybody  a  lesson.  Teach  lessons ! 
What  lesson  does  Shakespeare  teach  by  his  plays  ? 
None.  He  pours  a  wealth  of  philosophy  and 
poetry  out  of  the  mouths  of  his  characters,  but 
what  play  teaches  a  lesson?  Not  one." 

"Well,  what's  the  good  of  him?"  asked  the 
Practical  Man. 

"To  be  candid,  I  don't  know.  I  don't  know 
what's  the  good  of  anything  in  writing,  except 
that  it  may  give  you  a  pleasant  occupation  by 
making  you  think,  or  enable  you  to  find  a  greater 
beauty  in  life  by  pointing  things  out  to  you." 

"Well,  that 's  a  kind  of  lesson." 

"Lessons  in  good  are  not  of  much  use ;  not  any 
more  than  lessons  on  the  danger  of  evil.  I  wonder 
if  Shakespeare  ever  did  any  real  good  to  anybody." 

"Now    you    are    knocking    the    foundations    of 
everything,"  laughed  the  Fellow  in  the  Corner. 
76 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

"My  dear  sir,  the  genius  has  not  come  who  can  The  Morbid 
knock  the  foundations  of  anything.  I  am  inclined  Story 
to  believe,"  said  the  Seedy  Gentleman,  senten- 
tiously,  crossing  his  legs  and  swinging  one  foot 
vigorously,  "I  am  really  inclined  to  believe  that 
Shakespeare's  great  practical  value  lies  in  the 
convenient  quotations  he  has  provided.  He  was 
a  wonderful  man,  but  he  never  expected  that,  be 
cause  Romeo  and  Juliet  came  to  an  untimely  end, 
people  were  going  to  make  out  that  an» 
couple  who  married  against  their  parents'  wishes 
were  to  drift  into  all  this  trouble  and  die.  I  don't 
imagine  he  expected  you  to  understand  that  every 
husband  who  was  jealous  of  his  wife  would 
smother  her  with  pillows  because  Othello  did 
that.  He  must  have  known  that  there  could  not 
be  many  Macbeths  ;  and  I  fancy  he  would  laugh 
if  we  considered  'The  Merchant  of  Venice'  a 
moral  lesson  on  the  wickedness  of  usury." 

"What  do  you  suppose  he  wrote  for,  then?" 
asked  the  Practical  Man. 

"For  a  living,  for  money.  He  hadn't  any  idea 
he  would  be  making  money  for  publishers  and 
theatres  300  years  after  he  was  dead." 

"But  he  must  have  known  human  nature?" 

"What 's  the  good  of  knowing  human  nature 
unless  you  are  in  politics?  Gentlemen,  we  are 
here  purely  to  entertain  one  another — for  no  other 
purpose  in  the  world.  We  are  put  here  together 
to  help  one  another  to  get  through  the  three  score 

77 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

The  Morbid  and  ten  years,  and  then — we  '11  see.  I  remember 
Story  talking  with  Shakespeare ' 

"By  the  way,  you  haven't  been  up  there  lately?" 
said  the  Candid  Man. 

"Oh  yes,  I  have.  I  brought  Shakespeare  down 
to  see  the  clockwork  Hamlet  and  Ophelia  in  that 
Gilbert  opera." 

"Yes  ?     What  did  he  say  ?" 

"He  said  he  had  seen  the  parts  worse  acted." 

"What  did  he  think  of  the  show?" 

"He  thought  it  was  a  good  idea  to  sing  every 
thing.  He  said  it  had  not  occurred  to  him  in  his 
time,  but  a  world  where  men  and  women  wore 
handsome  dresses  and  went  through  life  singing 
was  an  ideal  world.  It  was  the  principle  of  fairy 
land,  and  our  idea  of  heaven.  I  told  him  I  was 
afraid  it  wouldn't  do.  I  said  it  might  be  a  serious 
detriment  to  conversation  if  everybody  sang  to 
gether.  He  remarked  it  wouldn't  be  as  bad  as 
everybody  talking  at  one  time,  and  the  music 
would,  in  fact,  regulate  that,  because  it  could  be 
arranged  to  give  everybody  a  solo,  which  they 
didn't  usually  get  in  the  ordinary  way.  Yes,  he 
seemed  much  impressed  with  the  application  of 
music  to  dialogue.  It  was  a  new  development 
to  him. 

"  'William,'  I  said,  'y°u  >re  jesting  !  How  would 
it  look  or  sound  for  a  woman  to  go  into  a  dry 
goods  store  and  sing  :  "I  want  a  yard  and  a 
half  of  ribbon  to  match  this  shade  exactly." ' 

78 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

"  'Well,'  said  he,  'I  think  it  would  give  a  kind    The  Morbid 
of  rhythm  to  life,  so  to  speak.     The  clerk  would   Story 
sing  :     "This  shade,  I  think,  madam,  is  just  the 
th-i-i-i-ng  you  need."  ' 

"  'That 's  what  they  call  a  cadenza.'  " 

"  'I  don't  know  what  you  call  it,  but  it  is  very 
taking.  Then  the  lady  would  reply :  "O-o-o-o-oh, 
not  a  bit  like  it." ' 

"'Well,'  I  said,  'William,  I  shouldn't  wonder  if 
you  are  right.  Come  to  think  of  it,  the  waiters  sing 
the  orders  in  restaurants.'  Yes,  gentlemen,"  said 
the  Seedy  Man,  "I  can  see  a  very  agreeable  appli 
cation  of  music  to  ordinary  conversation.  But  it 
was  Shakespeare  who  commented  on  the  gayety 
of  the  drama,  its  brightness,  its  inspiriting  tone, 
even  if  some  of  the  comedies  were  heavy  and 
some  of  the  wit  was  very  thin.  I  wish  it  were 
always  true." 

"I  wish  it  were." 

"We  don't  want  preaching,  gentlemen ;  we  don't 
want  sadness.  Yes,  suffering,  even  on  the  stage, 
will  always  bring  a  tear,  but  we  are  not  in  a  con 
dition  to  be  harrowed  up  for  nothing.  The  drama 
of  real  life  is  hard  enough  for  us,  and,  for  my 
own  part,  I  believe  in  the  gospel  of  sunshine.  We 
are  taught  that  suffering  is  our  lot.  I  am  thankful 
that  the  old  mad  drama  that  used  to  be  so  common 
is  gone  into  limbo.  I  hope  that  the  morbid  is 
disappearing  from  the  stage.  I  would  like  to  see 
fancy  get  a  wider  range  in  the  world,  life  made 
ideal.  We  know  that  wit  cuts  with  a  laugh,  and 
79 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

The  Morbid  the  most  effective  sermon  is  preached  in  a 
Story  smile." 

"You  are  not  so  pessimistic  this  evening,"  re 
marked  the  Candid  Man. 

"Gentlemen,  you  wrong  me;  I  am  not  pessi 
mistic.  I  think  life  has  always  something  beauti 
ful  about  it.  Clouded  over  sometimes,  yes,  often ; 
but  hasn't  the  cloudy  day  a  beauty  of  its  own,  and 
hasn't  the  storm  a  wild  excitement?  I  don't  know 
any  more  enjoyable  feeling  than  to  see  the  sun 
bursting  through  the  cloud,  the  bit  of  blue  sky 
through  the  breaking  storm.  For  heaven's  sake, 
let  us  keep  away  from  the  morbid  study  of  eternal 
wickedness  !  We  have  been  scared  into  a  dread  of 
living  by  morbid  literature,  by  morbid  plays,  and 
the  cynical  sneer  of  baser  and  inferior  intellects. 
I  believe,  gentlemen,  this  latter-day  philosophy, 
this  rank  novel,  this  theatre-libreism,  comes  from 
unhealthy  brains.  What  do  we  want  with  false 
representations  of  abnormal  conditions?  All  is 
not  vice  that  seems  to  be,  any  more  than  all  is 
virtue  that  seems  to  be.  Everything  is  to  us  what 
we  think ;  let  us  think  the  best  of  everything." 

"That  deserves  another  glass,  old  man,"  put  in 
the  Fellow  in  the  Corner. 

"Thank  you  !    John,  a  little  more  this  time " 

"Water,  sir?" 

"No;  certainly  not!  It  is  very  odd.  Every 
hour  of  the  day  tons  of  paper  are  covered  with 
teachings  of  all  kinds  and  floated  on  the  public, 
80 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

and  yet  the  public  remains  just  the  same.  We  are  The  Morbid 
told  not  to  do  this,  not  to  do  that.  We  are  told  Story 
that  this  is  wrong  and  that  is  right.  They  teach 
us  in  prose  and  poetry,  they  preach  and  they  im 
plore  ;  they  put  their  sentiments  in  insidious 
shapes ;  and  everybody  who  writes  or  teaches  or 
sermonizes  feels  sure  he  is  having  a  tremendous 
influence  on  the  world.  And  the  books  are 
borne  to  the  trunkmakers  in  wagon-loads,  the 
periodicals  and  pamphlets  are  turned  into  pulp, 
burned  in  lighting  fires,  in  lighting  cigars  and 
cigarettes ;  and  the  great  earth  moves  on  and 
human  nature  remains  the  same  as  it  was  in  the 
beginning,  as  it  will  be  in  all  the  aeons  to  come. 
The  fact  is  that  we  know  what's  right  and  what's 
wrong.  We  are  just  as  liable  to  do  what's  right 
even  if  somebody  tells  us  it's  wrong,  as  we  are 
to  do  what's  wrong,  because  somebody  tells  us 
it's  right.  We  '11  do  what  we  like,  anyway.  But 
nobody  was  ever  hurt  by  a  little  honest  pleasure 
thrown  into  life  ;  nobody  ever  was  the  worse 
for  an  honest  laugh  ;  and  no  time  was  ever  wast 
ed  that  put  brighter  ideas  and  pictures  of  the 
world  into  our  minds." 

The  Seedy  Gentleman  got  up  and  reached  for 
his  coat. 

"We  would  all  be  better  if  we  could.  We 
mean  well  ;  we  may  be  weak.  But  I  have  never 
been  able  to  see  why  the  misfortunes  and  vices 
of  the  world  should  be  the  staple  of  novels  and 
plays.  I  am  weary  of  the  play  of  scoundrel 
81 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

The  Morbid  lover  and  the  weak  woman  ;  I  am  weary  of  the 
Story  drama  of  hate  and  revenge  ;  I  am  weary  of  wait 
ing  through  four  acts  or  four  hundred  pages  for 
the  righting  of  some  absurd  wrong,  the  exposure 
of  villainy  and  the  absolution  of  the  innocent  ;  I 
am  weary  of  meaningless  murder,  and  unac 
countable  vice  ;  of  the  adventures  of  lunatics 
and  criminals.  And  so,  gentlemen,  I  would  like 
to  hail  the  fiction  of  the  future,  stories  of  bright 
men  and  women  of  wit  and  character;  life  at  its 
gayest,  with  music  and  flowers,  beauty  and  man 
liness,  preaching  the  gospel  of  the  sunshine." 

He  drank  down  his  toddy  and  meandered  into 
the  darkness. 


82 


HAPPINESS 


ABOUT  HAPPINESS 

"Yes,"  said  the  Seedy  Gentleman,  musingly,  as  Happiness 
he  swung  to  and  fro  in  a  rocking  chair  before 
tke  fire,  and  watched  the  smoke  from  his  cigar 
curl  into  the  fireplace  and  disappear  up  the  chim 
ney,  "our  happiness  lies  all  in  ourselves.  Friend 
ship,  love,  pleasure  are  nothing  except  what  they 
are  to  us.  The  host  can  put  the  feast  before  us  ; 
the  appetite  is  ours." 

"A  good  dinner  awakens  appetite,"  said  the 
Practical  Man. 

"Sometimes  ;  but  I  doubt  if  there  is  much  more 
misery  in  a  good  appetite  and  no  dinner,  than  in 
a  good  dinner  and  no  appetite.  But  I  speak  not 
of  eating  and  drinking.  Still,  the  stomach  has  in 
all  ages  been  the  favorite  department  of  the 
anatomy,  and  yet  what  is  the  stomach  ?  The 
depot  of  the  body.  When  I  think  of  the  stom 
ach,  gentlemen,  I  am  reminded  of  the  postoffice 
when  the  mail  arrives,  and  the  gastric  juices 
take  off  their  coats  and  pitch  in  and  sort  it  and 
distribute  it." 

"Now,  you  seem  to  be  practical." 

"There  is  nothing  so  practical  as  eating  and 
drinking.  The  mere  universality  of  the  custom 
goes  to  show  that  they  were  never  intended  to 
be  anything  else.  Gentlemen,  since  eating  and 

85 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Happiness  drinking  are  necessities,  let  us  thank  Heaven 
for  making  the  flavor  of  meat  and  vegetables, 
and  dessert,  and  wine,  and  whisky,  agreeable.  The 
Creator  might  have  made  them  the  reverse  if  he 
had  wanted  to.  The  most  irritating  invention  of 
civilization  is  the  acquired  taste." 

"It's  all  right  when  you  have  acquired  it,"  put 
in  the  Fellow  in  the  Corner. 

"It  is  so  confoundedly  expensive.  But,  as  I 
was  saying,  a  large  proportion  of  the  misery  of 
life  comes  from  wanting  to  be  like  other  people, 
and  turning  ourselves  inside  out  to  fit  condi 
tions  intended  for  somebody  else.  Rich  men 
want  to  be  clever,  and  clever  men  are  not  sat 
isfied  unless  they  are  handsome,  and  handsome 
men  have  moments  of  misery  because  they  may 
not  have  brains  or  cash.  The  handsome  man 
has  the  best  of  it.  He  can  look  in  the  glass  any 
time  and  gratify  his  vanity  ;  but  the  clever  man 
can't  talk  to  himself,  and  the  rich  man  may  have 
a  pocketful  of  gold  without  any  particular  satis 
faction,  when  he's  all  alone." 

"Which  would  you  rather  be  ?" 

"A  little  of  all.  I'd  like  to  be  a  moderately 
good-looking  man,  moderately  clever  and  moder 
ately  rich.  Still,  it  is  all  our  business,  and  no 
body  else's.  Gentlemen,  it  is  astonishing  how 
many  people  you  can  get  on  without ;  how  few 
people  make  up  your  real  circle  in  life.  Our 
everyday  experience  gives  proof  that  the  mil 
lions  around  us  are  of  no  consequence  to  us, 
86 


THE   SEEDY   GENTLEMAN 

and  the  stories  and  histories  of  men  and  women,    Happiness 

in  their   inner  lives,   confirm   it.     Black   Othello, 

the  Moor  of  Venice  !     One  woman  to  make  him 

happy — one  man  who  hated  him  to  undo  him  ! 

Macbeth,  with  an  ambitious  wife  and  the  gabble 

of  a  few  witches,  waded  in  blood  to  his  grave. 

What  were  even  the  Montagues  and  the  Capu- 

lets  to   Romeo  and  Juliet  ?     An   ardent  pair  of 

youthful  lovers,  a  cruel  father,  and  a  friar,  led 

to  all  the  trouble.     The  modern  plays  and  novels 

have   anywhere    from    six    to    twenty    characters, 

but  all  the  plot,  the  love,  the  hate,  the  comedy, 

centres  in  two  or  three,  and,  think  for  yourselves, 

gentlemen,    amid    your    hosts    of    friends,    how 

many  are  really  necessary  to  your  existence  ?" 

"We  like  our  friends " 

"Of  course  we  do.  They  are  kind,  they  lend 
a  great  charm  to  living.  But  if  there  were  to 
come  a  time  when  we  should  have  to  choose,  how 
many  are  there  indissolubly  bound  with  our  life, 
our  happiness  ?  It  has  always  seemed  to  me 
that  very  great  men  or  very  popular  men  must 
be  lonely.  The  loneliest  figure  in  history  to  me 
is  the  great  Napoleon.  Perhaps  the  picture  of 
him,  grand,  gloomy  and  peculiar,  may  have 
something  to  do  with  that  ;  but  somehow  I  al 
ways  think  he  had  no  soul  beside  him  in  that 
grand  dream  of  power  he  partly  realized,  and  his 
death  was  unspeakably  lonely.  Some  day,  years 
hence,  when  Napoleon  is  as  far  back  as  Charle 
magne,  what  a  majestic  drama  will  be  written 

87 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Happiness  about  him — when  the  age  of  great  poets  comes 
again.  But  that  is  a  digression.  Did  you  ever 
notice  that  in  a  play  where  everybody  on  the 
stage  shows  a  hatred  of  any  certain  character — 
the  villain,  of  course — the  audience  always  sym 
pathizes  with  him,  especially  if,  as  is  usually  the 
case  in  real  life,  he  does  not  look  at  all  like  a 
villain.  But  if  he  is  a  concealed  villain,  so  to 
speak,  they  '11  hate  him.  It's  much  the  same 
with  the  good  young  man  in  a  play.  He  gen 
erally  pokes  his  nose  into  other  people's  busi 
ness  ;  and  nobody  can  poke  his  nose  into  other 
people's  business,  however  great-hearted,  kindly, 
and  generous  he  may  be,  without  its  being  re 
sented  by  everybody.  In  fact,  everybody's  friend 
is  nobody's  friend,  and  all  men  and  women  alike 
have  the  one  woman  and  the  one  man  who  make 
their  inner  world." 

"You  are  limiting  things,  aren't  you?"  queried 
the  Fellow  in  the  Corner. 

"Ah,  yes — and  still  they  are  not  happy.  For 
that  makes  jealousy.  There  would  be  no  jeal 
ousy  if  God  had  made  us  capable  of  loving  ot 
giving  our  confidence  to  more  than  one  at  a 
time.  But  the  woman  wants  to  be  like  half  a 
dozen  different  other  women,  because  she  fears 
they  may  draw  her  sweetheart  from  her,  and  the 
man  wants  to  possess  all  the  attractions  he 
thinks  the  woman  admires.  The  friend  must 
have  no  other  friend.  They  say  love  and  friend 
ship  are  unselfish.  Ah  me  !  Yet  love  will  share 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

no  love,  friendship  will  share  no  friendship,  with    Happiness 
a  third  person." 

"John,  give  him  a  hot  Scotch." 

"Thank  you  kindly.  That  we  need  not  share 
with  anybody,  for  there's  plenty  for  all.  And  so, 
gentlemen,  content  is  impossible.  There  are  so 
many  attractions  in  others  we  wish  to  possess, 
so  many  faults  in  ourselves  we  are  ashamed  of. 
No  ;  the  moment  we  become  content,  we  lose 
both  love  and  friendship.  For  it  is  still  a  law 
of  nature  that  whatever  is  worth  having  takes 
effort  to  get  and  effort  to  keep.  Here's  to  you, 
gentlemen !  Ah  !  that  makes  philosophy  bright 
er.  Yes,  we  may  be  content,  after  all,  for  a  min 
ute.  But  all  our  life  moves  in  that  little  inner 
circle,  where  three  alone — the  sweetheart,  the 
friend  and  the  self — may  exist  And  the  value 
of  it  all  is  in  our  appreciation." 

"I'm  sorry  I  can't  have  any  more  than  two," 
sighed  the  Fellow  in  the  Corner. 

"You  can  have  as  many  as  you  like — good 
friends — people  who  like  you,  who  are  con 
stantly  doing  you  kindnesses,  people  of  whom 
you  are  very  fond,  for  whom  you  would  do  any 
service  in  the  world,  people  you  would  forever 
deeply  regret  to  part  from.  But  among  them  all 
there  are  always  two  that  are  so  near  to  you, 
you  feel  they  are  part  of  you." 

"You  're  very  philosophical  this  evening." 

"I  wish  some  great  man  would  coin  a  new 
word  that  would  strike  between  friend  and  ac- 

89 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Happiness  quaintance."  The  Seedy  Gentleman  shook  him 
self  and  looked  up  with  a  queer  smile.  "The 
trouble  about  this  triple  alliance,  gentlemen,  is 
that  it  is  liable  to  encroachments  from  the  out 
side,  principally  owing  to  man's  habit  of  getting 
married  to  one  woman.  It's  all  right  as  long 
as  the  male  friend  does  not  get  married,  or  as 
long  as  your  wife's  woman  friend  keeps  single. 
But,  you  see,  when  the  male  friend  marries,  the 
chances  are  ten  to  one  that  your  wife  won't  like 
his,  and  he  will  have  to  stick  to  his  wife, 
of  course,  as  you  will  to  yours.  So  the  thing  gets 
broken  up  on  that  side.  Then  your  wife's  chum 
may  get  married,  and  you  won't  like  her  husband, 
and  so  it  gets  broken  up  on  that  side  ;  till  by 
and  by  you  are  reduced  to  your  two  selves,  and 
there's  where  the  trouble  may  begin;  for  it  may 
end  in  neither  of  you  having  any  friends  at  all. 
In  fact,  come  to  think  of  it,  a  great  many  stories 
have  been  written  to  prove  that  to  be  the  inevit 
able  ending  to  all  human  love  and  friendship.  I 
am  afraid,  gentlemen,  there  is  no  kind  of  ar 
rangement  that  will  make  our  lives  quite  com 
fortable  except  the  proposition  I  started  out 
with,  that  all  our  happiness  is  in  ourselves,  and 
I  fancy  the  wisest  way  is  to  keep  it  there  and 
not  share  it  with  anybody.  It's  a  vile  world. 
After  all  it  is  a  curious  thought  that  the  human 
race,  with  all  its  hate,  malice,  misery,  despair, 
is  born  from  purest  sentiment,  the  love  of  man 
for  woman.  Good  night !  It  is  a  wild  night,  but 
90 


THE   SEEDY   GENTLEMAN 

it   is   not  all   unblest,   for   it   may   renovate  this    Happiness 
faded   suit." 

And  the  Seedy  Gentleman  drew  a  slouch  hat 
down  over  his  eyes  and  stepped  out  briskly  into 
the  rain. 


MORE  ABOUT   LOVE 


MORE  ABOUT  LOVE 

"Good  evening  to  you  !"  said  the  Seedy  Gen-   More 
tleman.  About  Love 

"Good  evening  !     You  don't  look  well." 

"I  am  blue  tonight,  blue  as  the  sea." 

"Love  ?  You  say  the  fishes  love — perhaps  they 
make  the  sea  blue,"  said  the  Fellow  in  the 
Corner. 

"Gentlemen,  you  jest  !  Yes,  I  believe  that 
flounders  flirt  in  the  deeps  of  the  ocean.  I  saw  a 
shad  in  a  restaurant  window  the  other  day  that 
was  worn  to  a  shadder,  and  I  had  a  tomcod  for 
breakfast  this  morning  that  looked  as  if  it  had 
died  of  love.  But  there's  a  great  difference  in 
love — a  great  difference — only  the  result  is  al 
ways  the  same.  You  see,  we  love  people  for 
what  they  ought  to  be,  and  they  never  are  ;  and 
we  never  are  what  we  ought  to  be,  and  nothing 
ever  is  what  it  ought  to  be,  and  when  we  think 
it  is,  we  only  find  out  afterward  that  it  wasn't. 
It's  very  confusing." 

"You  are  queer  tonight,  aren't  you  ?  There  's 
your  drink,"  the  Candid  Man  remarked  sooth 
ingly. 

"Here's  to  you,  gentlemen !  Ah !  I  feel  bet 
ter  now.  By  the  way,  I  did  not  tell  you  what 
happened  in  the  Elysian  Debating  Society,  did 

95 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

More    I  ?    We  discussed  that  question  up  there." 
About  Love       "They  do  love  one  another  up  there  ?" 

"Certainly.  It  is  materially  different,  of 
course.  There  is  no  marrying  for  money.  There's 
no  money.  It  changes  things.  The  other  day 
there  was  quite  a  scene.  A  lady  who  had  pre 
ceded  her  husband  would  not  speak  to  him  when 
he  arrived." 

"You  are  not  my  husband/'  she  said. 

"I  am,"  he  said.  "You  were  Mrs.  Jones  on 
earth,  were  you  not  ?" 

"Certainly." 

"You  were  twenty  years  married  to  me  ?" 

"To  you  !  I  never  thought  you  were  this  kind 
of  man." 

"They  would  not  be  reconciled.  But  we  took 
up  the  question,  'What  is  love  ?'  We  had,  of 
course,  all  the  old  poets  to  refer  to,  but  they 
were  for  the  most  part  voted  quite  out  of  date. 
Wanting  the  inspiration  of  eyes  and  hair,  and 
forms  and  hands  and  lips  and  cheeks,  they  could 
not  even  guess  what  real  love  was.  The  scien 
tific  people  had  a  whack  at  it.  They  said  that 
they  had  always  believed  it  was  the  action  of 
animal  magnetism  on  the  nerves,  but,  as  every 
body  had  left  his  nerves  behind  him,  that  could 
give  no  explanation.  The  philosophers  had  be 
lieved  that  it  was  a  phase  of  the  action  of  mat 
ter  upon  the  mind,  but  as  there  was  all  mind 
and  no  matter  there,  they  were  inclined  to  admit 
that  really  mind  had  something  to  do  with  it. 

96 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

The  dramatists  came  in  swooping.  Then  there 
was  a  scene." 

"What  about  ?" 

"Well,  the  scientists  despise  the  philosophers, 
they  both  despise  the  poets,  the  three  despise  the 
novelists,  and  they  all  despise  the  dramatists. 
The  president  rapped  on  the  desk  for  order." 

"Gentlemen,"  he  cried,  "I  command  you  to  be 
silent.  Let  us  call  the  novelists." 

Dickens  rose.  He  spoke  of  innumerable  loves 
his  stories  told.  He  was  listened  to  quietly  ;  but 
none  of  them  seemed  to  quite  define  the  proposi 
tion.  Scott  said  he  "didna  ken  onything  aboot  it." 
Richardson  got  sneered  at,  Fielding  was  roundly 
abused  and  a  lot  of  later  novelists  were  frankly 
sat  upon.  When  Thackeray  rose  there  was  a 
hush. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "I  claim  no  more  than 
human  nature  for  my  children.  All  I  have  writ 
ten  about,  all  the  people  I  have  drawn,  have  had 
some  weakness  in  them;  but,  if  you  ask  me  what 
to  me  is  nearest  my  idea  of  true  love  in  all  my 
books,  I  may  be  wrong,  but  old  Tom  Newcome's 
love  for  the  French  master's  daughter — and  hers 
for  him — " 

There  was  a  burst  of  applause.  He  had  evi 
dently  come  very  near  it. 

"Now,  if  you  please,  let's  hear  the  dramatists. 
I  recognize  Bulwer  Lytton,"  said  the  president 

Bulwer  rose,  and  with  a  great  deal  of  affecta 
tion  said  : 

97 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

More       "Gentlemen,  as   I   am  the  author  of  the   love 
About  Love    speech  which  has  had  the  widest  range  of  pop 
ularity " 

"Quote  !    quote  !"  came  from  all  parts. 

"I  quote  !"  he  said. 
"Nay,  dearest,  nay  !     If  thou  would  'st  have  me 

paint 
"The  home  to  which " 

"Pah  !  That's  sentimentality  ;  that's  sickly. 
Sit  down  !  That  is  not  love.  That's  spoons." 

The  hubbub  drove  Bulwer  Lytton  into  his  seat. 

Wycherly  and  Congreve  got  up,  but  the  meet 
ing  would  not  hear  them.  They  declared  that 
nobody  who  knew  anything  about  love  could  so 
debase  its  name.  Even  Ben  Jonson  would  not 
be  heard.  Richard  Brinsley  Sheridan  offered  in 
evidence  Lydia  Languish,  and  tried  to  prove  that 
"The  School  for  Scandal"  was  a  lesson  in  love  ; 
but  they  laughed  at  him.  Sheridan  Knowles  got 
up  and  began  to  quote  a  speech  of  Julia's  in  "The 
Hunchback,"  but  they  groaned  irreverent  groans 
and  rather  mortified  the  old  man.  Henry  J. 
Byron  and  Tom  Robertson  claimed  something  for 
their  comedies,  but  the  meeting  simply  pooh- 
poohed  them.  Boucicault  was  heard  piping.  He 
said  that,  without  reflection  on  anybody  before 
him,  or  after  him  (cries  of  "Irish"!),  he  conceited 
himself  that  he  had  written  the  most  beautiful 
love  scenes  in  any  language.  Nobody  took  any 
other  notice  of  his  remark,  but  he  sat  down  quite 
satisfied. 

98 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

"We  must  have  order,"  called  out  the  presi-   More 
dent.     "This  is  a  most  inappropriate  way  to  dis-   About  Love 
cuss  such  a  tender  question  as  love.     I  call  upon 
William  Shakespeare." 

The  meeting  came  to  order  at  once,  except  that 
for  a  little  the  applause  was  enthusiastic.  Poet, 
philosopher,  dramatist,  the  question  was  to  be 
solved. 

"I  would  rather,  Mr.  President,"  said  Shakes 
peare,  "hear  the  voices  of  this  meeting  decide 
upon  my  merits.  What  of  all  my  love  pictures 
meets  with  most  of  your  commendation  ?" 

One  got  up  and  spoke  of  Viola's  love  for  the 
Duke.  Pretty,  tender,  poetic,  everybody  agreed, 
but  too  sentimental,  too  romantic.  Not  the  love 
that  would  live  without  the  melancholy  of  the 
Duke  ;  the  kind  of  love  that  would  be  killed  by  a 
three  days'  beard.  Orsino's  love  for  Olivia  was 
voted  silly,  only  kept  alive  by  her  obstinacy. 
Romeo  and  Juliet  were  hardly  discussed ; 
youth's  fevered  passion  burning  in  the  blood. 
Rosalind  and  Orlando  were  too  much  of  the  sigh 
ing  furnace  ever  to  be  capable  of  serious  sacri 
fice.  Othello  and  Desdemona  were  analyzed  to 
find  little  but  an  overweening  admiration  on 
Desdemona's  part  of  the  physical  qualities  of 
Othello,  and  in  Othello  a  jealousy  born  as  much 
of  wounded  vanity  as  wounded  love.  Desde 
mona's  fairness  was  voted  as  strong  a  factor  in 
her  attraction  as  her  personal  fascinations.  It 
might  have  been  a  more  distinct  quality  of  love 

99 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

More  if  Desdemona  had  been  black.  They  went  all 
About  Love  through  Shakespeare,  and,  curiously  enough,  the 
general  opinion  seemed  to  be  that  the  nearest  to 
the  real  love,  as  they  held  it,  was  Ophelia's  love 
for  Hamlet,  the  woman  in  all  Shakespeare  who 
loved  the  most  and  declared  the  least." 

"Well,  what  conclusion  did  they  come  to  ?" 

Then  somebody  asked  Shakespeare  if  Ophelia 
ever  really  loved  Hamlet. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Shakespeare. 

That  upset  things  again. 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  yourself  about  all 
those  people  ?"  somebody  asked  Shakespeare. 

"To  tell  the  truth,"  said  Shakespeare,  "I  never 
knew  that  I  meant  so  much  until  those  comment 
ators  began  coming  up  here.  I  never  was  so  in 
terested  in  anything  in  my  life  as  in  having  my 
own  plays  explained  to  me.  If  I  had  known  how 
clever  a  man  I  was  I  would  have  asked  more 
money  for  my  work." 

"Ah,  you  should  have  been  born  300  years 
later,"  I  said. 

"Why  ?"  asked  Shakespeare. 

"You  were  born  just  three  centuries  ahead  of 
the  great  commercial  impresarios,"  I  said. 

"Who   are   they  ?     Dramatists   or   artists  ?" 

"No.  They  're  the  men  who  make  money  for 
dramatists  and  artists." 

"How  do  they  do  it  ?"  asked  several. 

"Advertise  and  charge  big  prices." 

"Gentlemen,    this    is    a    digression,"    yelled   the 

100 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

president.     "We  have  still,  it  appears,  to  discuss   More 

the  question  'What  is  love  ?'  "  About  Love 

"May  I  make  a  suggestion  ?"  I  asked. 

"Certainly." 

"You  are  all  behind  the  times.  I  will  show  you 
what  is  love.  Come  down  and  see  Sarah  Bern- 
hardt." 

They  came.     We  saw  La  Tosca. 

"Does  that  look  like  love  ?"  I  asked.  "Here 
is  a  woman  perjures  herself,  is  ready  to  yield  her 
self  up  to  a  brute,  murders  him  and  kills  herself, 
for  love." 

"Yes,  that  has  all  the  expression  of  love,"  said 
one,  "although  it  is  not  quite  agreeable.  But 
there  are  many  expressions  of  love  that  are  not 
agreeable." 

They  came  again.     They  saw  Theodora. 

"See  !  She  is  the  Empress  ;  risks  everything 
to  be  with  her  lover.  She  dies  with  him.  That 
looks  like  love." 

"Is  that  the  same  woman  ?"  somebody  asked. 

"Certainly." 

They  came  again.     They  saw  Camille. 

"She  leaves  her  life  of  shame  for  the  love  of 
Armand,"  I  said.  "She  goes  back  to  it  for  love 
of  Armand.  Does  that  look  like  love  ?" 

"I  suppose  so,"  said  another.  "Is  that  still 
the  same  woman  ?" 

"Yes." 

"And  one  woman  can  pretend  so  realistically  to 
feel  for  all  those  men  ?" 
101 


THE   SEEDY   GENTLEMAN 

More       "And  anybody  else  you   like  to  put  her  in  a 
About  Love    play  with." 

"Well,    what    in    thunder's    the    use    of    asking 
what  love  is  ?" 
And  they  gave  it  up. 


'IS   'ART  WAS   TRUE  TO   POLL 


'IS  'ART  WAS  TRUE  TO  POLL 

"  'Is  'art  was  true  to  Poll,"  sang  the  Seedy  'Is  'art  was 
Gentleman,  as  he  hung  up  his  hat  and  switched  a  true  to  Poll 
red  bandanna  handkerchief  from  his  pocket. 

"Where  have  I  heard  that  before  ?"  asked  the 
Fellow  in  the  Corner. 

"Oh,  a  long  time  ago,  when  dainty  Rosina 
Yokes  sang  it  in  her  dainty  comedy.  Burnand 
wrote  it,  and  it  will  never  die,  for  it  is  a  perfect 
condensation  of  the  philosophy  of  love." 

"We  don't  get  any  more  of  those  pretty  little 
plays." 

"No,"  said  the  Seedy  Gentleman,  with  a  sigh. 
"I  am  so  tired  of  reading  about  murders,  and 
suicides,  and  crime  and  corruption  !  If  we 
could  only  get  away  from  the  brutal  and  re 
pulsive  in  the  newspapers  and  books  !  We  have 
turned  the  seamy  side  of  life  out  so  thoroughly 
that  the  whole  human  race,  somehow  or  other, 
begins  to  appear  savage.  It  is  curious  after  all. 
We  fill  our  houses  with  pretty  bric-a-brac,  with 
fine  pictures  and  rich,  luxurious  drapery.  We 
surround  ourselves  with  charming  things  of  a 
material  kind,  and  yet  the  largest  proportion  of 
our  mental  pabulum  is  of  the  most  disagreeable 
and  painful  nature.  The  novelists  delight  in 
harrowing  us  with  stories  of  abnormal  passions, 
105 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

'Is  'art  was  of  the  most  distressing  situations  ;  our  play- 
true  to  Poll  wrights  delve  into  the  dirt  of  society  for  plots, 
and  show  beautiful  women  as  abandoned  mor 
ally,  and  handsome,  clever  men  as  unprincipled, 
licentious  and  corrupt.  Gentlemen,  this  is  not  the 
world.  Why  should  we  make  it  appear  to  be  ?" 

"It  is  kind  of  queer,"  put  in  the  Candid  Man, 
for  the  Seedy  Gentleman  paused  for  a  reply. 

"The  world  is  bright  and  gay.  Even  its  immor 
ality  is  not  as  terrible  as  it  is  made  out  to  be. 
There  is  an  all-purifying  love,  and,  gentlemen, 
no  matter  what  you  do,  if  your  heart  be  only 
true,  'and  'is  'art  was  true  to  Poll.'  Ah  me  ! 
How  many  people  have  practiced  that  philoso 
phy  ?  Everybody  has  at  some  time  of  his  life, 
and  most  people  all  their  lives.  It  has  justified 
many  a  mercenary  marriage  ;  it  has  led  to  many 
a  divorce  ;  it  has  excused  profligacy  and  wick 
edness,  and  it  has  caused  many  a  breach  of  prom 
ise  suit.  You  have  known  men  who  have  had  a 
dozen  sweethearts,  while  their  heart  was  true 
to  Poll,  haven't  you?  There's  hardly  a  week 
that  some  poor  maiden  does  not  marry  some 
rich  man,  while  her  heart  is  true  to  some  other 
fellow.  No,  it's  no  great  hardship.  Broken 
hearts  were  the  conception  of  poets  and  novel 
ists.  Great  heavens  !  what  would  the  story- 
writers  and  the  poetasters  and  the  dramatists  do 
if  they  stuck  to  the  reality  in  such  matters  ? 
When  mankind  was  created,  the  heart,  psychol 
ogically  speaking,  was  made  the  toughest  part  of 
106 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

the  anatomy.    I  never  could  understand  precisely   'Is  'art  was 
why  all  this  love  was  considered  an  affair  of  the    true  to  Poll 
heart  anyway.     As  a  fact,  it  has  nothing  to  do 
with  it  ;  it  has  less  to  do  with  the  heart  than  it 
has  with  anything  else." 

"You  are  iconoclastic  this  evening,"  said  the 
Sentimental  Man. 

"No,  not  at  all.  I  am  only  struck  by  that  lit 
tle  touching  ballad  Rosina  Vokes  used  to  sing. 
It  is  so  very  true  to  life.  It  is  the  philosophy  of 
a  great  many  married  women.  No,  single  women 
are  different.  They  can  retaliate.  They  're  not 
satisfied  with  a  man's  heart.  They  want  all  the 
attention  he  has  to  bestow  on  woman.  But  if, 
when  they  are  married,  they  cannot  console  them 
selves  with  the  thought  that  his  'art  is  true  to 
Poll,  there  is  no  end  of  trouble." 

"You  don't  seem  to  think  much  of  men  after 
they  are  married,"  remarked  the  Practical  Man. 

"Marriage,  gentlemen,  is  an  institution  intend 
ed  to  keep  women  out  of  mischief  and  get  men 
into  trouble.  Did  it  ever  strike  you  that  a  great 
many  of  our  comedies  are  infinitely  more  serious 
in  motive  than  our  tragedies  ;  that  what  is  a 
lively  farce  on  the  stage  is  not  laughable  or  funny 
in  real  life  ?  When  the  gay  husband  in  the 
story  sneaks  off  to  have  a  good  time  with  a 
lively  woman  of  questionable  morals,  and  his  wife 
catches  him,  we  roar  with  laughter.  Was  there 
ever  a  real  situation  of  the  kind  that  appeared 
funny,  even  to  an  outsider  ?  Ah,  my  friend,  the 
107 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

'Is  'art  was  principal  basis  of  happiness  lies  right  there.  'No 
true  to  Poll  matter  what  you  do,  if  your  'art  be  true,  and  'is 
'art  was  true  to  Poll.' " 

"Maybe  it  is  so,"  said  the  Sentimental  Man. 

"Gentlemen,  there  is  nothing  that  can  make 
life  happy  but  faith.  It  is  the  faith  of  the  de 
votee  that  brings  heaven  down  to  earth.  It  is 
the  faith  of  the  lover  that  makes  love  an  ecstasy. 
It  is  the  faith  of  the  woman  that  holds  her  true 
and  pure.  It  is  the  faith  of  the  man  in  woman 
that  enables  him  to  be  false  to  her.  Faith,  gen 
tlemen,  faith  everywhere,  in  everything  !  Faith 
in  friendship,  faith  in  love,  faith  in  honesty,  faith 
in  some  overruling  power  for  good  in  misfor 
tune  !  Hope  is  faith,  and  there  is  no  despair  till 
faith  has  gone." 

"And  still  'is  'art  was  true  to  Poll,"  added  the 
Fellow  in  the  Corner. 

"Just  so.  John,  if  you  have  faith,  ask  these 
gentlemen  what  they  will  drink.  There  is  noth 
ing  so  touches  my  vanity,  nowadays,  as  to  be 
trusted.  Did  you  ever  notice  that  people  always 
trust  the  man  who  can  pay  cash  and  doesn't  want 
to ;  and  never  trust  the  man  who  can't  and  wants 
to?  Living  is  a  hard  lot,  and  as  I  was  saying, 
the  problems  of  life  are  becoming  so  complicated 
that  only  the  dramatists  can  work  them  out.  And 
sometimes  I  like  to  get  into  the  dramatist's  world. 
It  is  no  use  talking,  real  life  is  full  of  disagree 
able  things,  disagreeable  people,  and  disagree 
able  situations.  The  Creator  is  too  far  off.  He 
108 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

should  have  an  agent  here,  or  a  telephone.    If  we   'Is  'art  was 

could  only  go  to  some  fellow  and  order  a  career,    true  to  Poll 

it  would  be  so  much  better,  but  we  live  out  our 

threescore  and  ten  years  before  we  find  out  what 

we  were  best  fitted  for.     We  only  find  out  what 

we   can   do,   by   trying   everything   we   can't   do. 

Yes,  I  like  the  dainty  little  world  of  comedy.  The 

comedy  stage  that  gives  us  pretty,  well-dressed, 

attractive  women,  and  bright,  brilliant,  agreeable 

men,  makes  them  talk  wittily,  and  places  them  in 

amusing  situations,   does   the   world  the   service 

that  the  sunshine  does,  that  the  flowers   do.     I 

like  that  old  tar  in  the  play,  with  his  queen,  his 

twenty  wives  and  his  Matilda,  while  'is  'art  was 

true    to    Poll.     There   was    a    breeziness    in    his 

moral  nature  that  smacked  of  the  sea.     He  was 

a  sailor  in  life,  and  trimmed  his  sails  to  every 

air   that  blew,   and   sailed   in  any   direction   the 

wind  would  take  him  ;  but  guiding  himself  ever 

by  the  pale  north  star.     "No  matter  wot  you  do." 

How  many  men,  in  how  many  plays,  after  four 

acts  of  desertion  and  cruelty,   leaving  wives   to 

starve  and  children  to  suffer,  come  back  in  the 

fifth  act  to  be  forgiven,  for  their  'arts  were  true 

to  Poll.     Is  it  only  in  plays  ?     Ah,  is  it  only  in 

plays   that  those  things   happen?     Are   there  no 

real    men,    women    and    children    who    act    that 

drama  ?" 

"I'm  afraid   Scotch  whisky  isn't  good  for  you 
tonight,  old  man  !"  said  the  Candid  Man. 

"On  the  contrary  !"  answered  the  Seedy  Gen- 
109 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

'Is  'art  was  tleman  briskly.  "Thank  you,  John  !  Scotch 
true  to  Poll  whisky  is  a  philosophy  in  itself.  But  to  return  to 
Poll.  It  is  curious  that  sailors  only  are  sup 
posed  to  be  of  that  fickle  disposition,  which  calls 
for  Mr.  Burnand's  able  defense.  Soldiers  appear 
to  be  considered  true.  I  suppose  opportunities 
account  for  that.  I  think  a  man  would  always 
be  true  to  his  love,  if  it  weren't  for  opportuni 
ties.  They  make  all  the  trouble  for  us.  We 
cannot  be  held  responsible  for  opportunities. 

That  is  fate.  The  human  heart "  and  the 

Old  Gentleman  betrayed  a  tendency  to  tearful 
ness — "the  human  heart  always  longs  for  com 
pany.  It  is  the  loneliest  thing  in  nature,  all  by 
itself.  It  craves  something  that  only  a  woman 
can  give,  and  if  the  woman  we  love  is  far  away, 
wouldn't  she,  if  she  truly  loved,  rather  like  to 
feel  that  we  were  happy,  even  in  another  woman's 
momentary  affections,  than  brokenhearted  and 
miserable  all  by  ourselves?  She  ought  to!  But 
the  trouble  is  that  she  doesn't.  It  is  selfish ! 
But  human  selfishness  is  all  that  stands  between 
the  world  and  happiness." 

The  Seedy  Gentleman  rose,  a  little  unsteadily. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said,  as  he  turned  to  go,  "all 
I  contend  for  is  that  the  breezy  tar's  philosophy 
goes  farther  toward  solving  the  sentimental 
problem  than  all  the  books  that  ever  were  writ 
ten  about  it.  'No  matter  wot  you  do,  if  your  'art 
be  only  true  to  Poll.' " 


no 


MUSIC 


ABOUT  MUSIC 

"Ah  me  !"  said  the  Seedy  Gentleman,  with  a   Music 
sigh,  as  he  pulled  his  chair  up  to  the  fire,  "The 
summer   has   faded" ;   and   then   he   sang,   in   his 
ragged  tenor  voice,  "Good-by,  summer  ;  good-by, 
good-by  !" 

"This  is  sad — not  to  say  painful,"  said  one  of 
the  listeners. 

"Music  !"  said  the  old  man,  dreamily.  "For 
joy  or  grief  or  pain  or  delight  there  is  no  other 
expression.  It  reaches  deeper  and  soars  higher 
than  thought.  That  is  the  great  potency  of 
grand  opera.  I  have  but  a  vague  idea  of  the 
details  of  the  opera  I  have  just  heard.  I  did  read 
the  printed  argument,  and  I  know  the  story,  of 
course.  But,  even  if  the  tenor  paid  but  little  atten 
tion  to  the  contralto,  and  did  not  seem  to  betray 
so  much  consciousness  of  her  as  of  the  conductor 
and  the  audience,  you  can't  tell  me  he  was  not  in 
love  with  her.  He  might  not  have  known  it, 
but  I  did.  And  the  baritone  was  trying  to  im 
press  the  soprano  ;  not  as  earnestly  as  he  was 
trying  to  impress  the  audience,  but  he  could  not 
conceal  what  he  was  after.  The  music  told  all 
that." 

John  came  in  with  the  glasses,  and  the  Old 
"3 


THE   SEEDY   GENTLEMAN 

Music  Gentleman  paused  to  sip  a  little  and  light  a 
cigar.  Then  he  went  on. 

"I  have  never  ceased  to  wonder  at  the  curious 
fact  that  human  sympathy  rarely  goes  out  to  the 
baritone,  and  that  the  basso  is  never  a  popular 
or  successful  lover,  in  grand  opera.  The  so 
prano  and  the  contralto,  as  a  rule,  both  love  the 
tenor,  and  the  others  are  unrequited.  I  don't 
see  why  they  can't  pair  them  off  as  they  do  in 
plays.  No,  even  if  the  soprano's  love  be  hope 
less  for  the  tenor,  rather  than  marry  the  bari 
tone  or  basso,  she'll  kill  herself.  I  do  mind  me 
of  one  or  two  exceptions,  but  they  only  prove 
the  rule." 

"The  tenor  is  always  more  popular  in  real  life 
than  the  baritone,"  said  the  Fellow  in  the 
Corner. 

"Yes,  that  is  true.  There  is  something  in  the 
tone.  It  does  not  seem  appropriate,  somehow,  to 
hear  a  fellow  say,  in  a  deep  bass  voice,  to  a 
fragile  girl,  T  love  you.'  Still  some  fragile  girls 
like  that  sort  of  thing,  I  dare  say.  Anyway,  when 
.emotion  gets  too  deep  for  words,  or  passion  too 
strong,  or  love  too  tender,  music  comes  in  and 
says  it  all  for  us." 

"Have  you  ever  sung  it  yourself  ?"  asked  the 
Candid  Man. 

"For  those  who  have  not  voices  to  sing,  my 
friend,  nature  has  provided — silence.  Ah,  it  is 
all  sensation  after  all.  It  comes  through  the 
eye,  through  the  ear,  through  the  touch.  It 
114 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

comes — God    only    knows    how,    sometimes — but   Music 
we  understand." 

"Poor  old  chap  !  How  you  must  have  suf 
fered  !"  put  in  the  Cynical  Man. 

"I  know  your  irreverence,  gentlemen  ;  but 
you've  all  got  to  go  through  it — those  of  you  who 
have  not  been  through  it  already." 

"You  are  so  full  of  the  illusions  of  the 
stage " 

"Pardon  !  The  stage  is  the  only  place  where 
there  are  no  illusions,  except  for  the  actors.  Il 
lusions  are  our  life,  our  happiness " 

"Until  they  are  dispelled." 

"Dispelled  !"  said  the  Old  Man  dreamily. 
"Yes,  and  still  we  ought  to  know  that  if  we 
reach  the  star  we  shall  find  it  has  no  brilliancy. 
And  if  we  sail  into  the  crimson  cloud  of  sunset 
it  will  wet  us  through.  We  must  not  ask  more 
of  beauty  than  it  is  born  to  give  us.  However 
fragile,  however  delicate,  it  has  its  practical  pur 
pose  as  well.  Should  we  quarrel  with  the  rose 
because  we  cannot  cook  and  eat  it  ?  And  men 
and  women  !  The  beautiful  woman  is  soulless 
sometimes,  is  she  ?  No  !  Only,  it  may  be,  to 
you.  Some  other  man  finds  she  has  a  soul,  and 
she  is  a  different  woman  to  him.  It  is  the  differ 
ence  between  the  beauty  in  the  animate  and  in 
animate.  We  want  response  from  our  own  kind. 
We  are  satisfied  to  feel  the  beauty  of  nature,  and 
ask  no  more  than  that  it  be  beautiful." 

"I  thought  so,"  put  in  somebody  in  the  pause, 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Music  looking  out  of  the  window,  "the  new  moon  is 
on." 

"Don't  misunderstand  me,  gentlemen,"  said 
the  Old  Man.  "I  would  be  happy  to  discuss  the 
Strike  question,  the  condition  of  business,  the  lat 
est  case  of  murder,  or  the  most  engrossing  of 
salacious  scandals  ;  but,  to  tell  you  the  truth — 
well — I  think  there  is  something  more  to  live 
for,  and  I  wish  to  forget  for  a  minute,  if  I  may, 
the  old  primeval  curse  of  Adam,  the  curse  of 
Cain,  and  that  infernal  curse  of  greed  of  gold 
that  gives  no  rest  even  to  the  dead." 

The  Old  Man  stopped  abruptly.  After  a  lit 
tle  he  went  on  in  a  changed  tone  : 

"I  think  God  has  been  kindest  to  those  to 
whom  he  has  given  the  keen  feeling  and  enjoy 
ment  of  beauty,  be  it  of  the  landscape  or  the  soul 
of  man  or  woman.  It  may  be  that  he  has  joined 
it  to  the  keenest  suffering,  too.  To  find  a  poem 
in  the  restless  sea  ;  to  hear  a  ballad  in  the  bab 
bling  brook  ;  to  catch  the  sigh  of  music  in  the 
summer  breeze  ;  to  feel  the  symphony  of  hazy 
purple  hill  and  pale-blue  sky  and  brown-green 
vale  and  shining  water  ;  it  is  to  live  and  be 
happy  for  an  hour — and  to  remember  it  forever. 
Ah  !  it  is  a  pleasure  more  acute  than  any  other 
to  those  who  feel  it.  And  it  does  not  end  there. 
It  is  the  impalpable  in  life  that  moves  us  most. 
And  so  we  come  back  to  music — pure  sensation. 
Yes,  we  recall  the  merry  moments  of  the  jest 
and  song  and  laughter.  We  do  not  forget  the 
116 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

words  that  have  stirred  us,  or  the  interchange  Music 
of  conversation  we  have  known  with  congenial 
companions.  But,  after  all,  perhaps  thoughts  that 
were  never  spoken  have  told  us  the  sweetest 
story,  and  the  hours  we  most  enjoyed  were  spent 
in  sympathetic  silence.  There  are  people  whom 
neither  land  nor  sea  can  divide;  who  are  for 
ever  with  one  another,  even  if  a  hemisphere  may 
lie  between  them ;  and  God  is  kindest  of  all  to 
them.  Illusion  ?  No.  It  is — He  only  knows." 


117 


THE    NEW    WOMAN 


ABOUT  THE  NEW  WOMAN 

The   Old   Fellow    lay   back   in   his    chair   and   The  New 
looked   out   through    the    window    and    saw    the    Woman 
moon,  full  and  brilliant,  sailing  through  a  cloud 
less    night    sky.     He    suddenly    stopped    talking. 
They  did  not  interrupt  his  reverie  for  awhile,  but 
at  last  somebody  said  : 

"Well  ?     Why  don't  you  finish  the  sentence  ?" 

"What  was  I  talking  about  ?" 

"I  don't  know.  Something  about  a  rebellious 
woman." 

"She  was  a  woman  and  rebellious — " 

"Not  a  very  rare  thing.  Women  always  are 
rebellious,"  said  the  Candid  Man. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you  ?"  asked  the  Old 
Mian,  turning  and  looking  at  the  speaker.  "Are 
you  not  getting  your  own  way  ?  There's  so  much 
rebellion  that  simply  amounts  to  that.  I  don't 
know  why  you  should  say  all  women  are  rebel 
lious.  If  men  are  not,  it  is  because  they  are  not 
in  subjection  as  much.  But,  my  dear  friend,  the 
motive  power  of  everything  is  rebellion." 

"John,  I  know  that  glass  is  empty." 

"Thank  you,  I  believe  it  is.  Something  of  re 
bellion  there.  Rebellion  !  Yes  !"  and  the  Old 
Man  looked  out  at  the  moon  and  went  on.  "If 
that  silent  splendor  up  there  in  the  heavens  were 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

The  New  not  in  never-ceasing  rebellion  against  the  earth, 
Woman  that  draws  it  forever  to  it,  it  would  fall  and  be 
part  of  it.  Somewhere  just  now  on  the  other 
side  of  the  world  the  sun  is  dragging  us  into  its 
fires,  and  we  are,  in  sheer  rebellion,  swinging  for 
our  very  lives.  Rebellion  of  earth,  air  and  sky  ! 
Rebellion  is  life,  is  action,  is  everything." 

"All  right !  You  needn't  go  over  all  the  scien 
tific  subjects.  What  has  that  to  do  with  the  re 
bellious  woman  ?" 

"Maybe  nothing — maybe  everything.  I  don't 
know,"  said  the  Old  Fellow,  lighting  a  fresh 
cigar. 

"Of  course,  we  can  see  the  new  woman  is  re 
bellion,"  remarked  the  Cynical  Chap. 

"Oh,  dear,  no  !"  said  the  Old  Man,  looking  up 
with  a  smile.  "Oh,  dear,  no  !" 

"What  is  she  ?" 

"Enthusiasm  of  imaginary  intellect  ;  exuberance 
of  misunderstanding.  Bless  your  soul  !  Women 
have  just  made  the  discovery  that  the  human 
mind  can  reason,  and  they  are  as  proud  in  show 
ing  it  off  as  the  boy  is  in  winding  up  an  alarm 
clock,  and  setting  it  going  to  hear  it  ring." 

"It  is  a  rebellion  against  men,  they  say,"  said 
the  Fellow  in  the  Corner. 

"Ay,  say  you  so  ?  Well,  let  the  new  woman 
look  out !  Poor  thing !  Can't  she  see  she  is 
playing  for  the  wider  freedom  of  men  ;  the  en 
couragement  of  our  laziness  ?  The  'old'  woman 
122 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

was  glad  to  get  off   with   doing  the   household    The  New 
duties "  Woman 

"Men  will  have  to  do  them  now,  I  suppose," 
put  in  the  Practical  Man. 

"Not  a  bit  of  it.  Even  the  new  woman  will 
not  endure  any  male  interference  in  the  house 
affairs.  So,  she'll  still  have  them.  Now,  when 
she  votes  and  gets  a  voice  in  the  Government  and 
politics,  and  has  a  business  of  her  own,  what  will 
men  have  to  do  except  loaf  about  and  enjoy  them 
selves  ?  Don't  stop  the  new  woman  !  Let  her 
grow  and  prosper.  It  is  all  the  better  for  us 
men.  We'll  have  more  leisure  and  comfort.  But 
no  !  gentlemen,  no  !  There  is  a  limit  to  our 
hopes.  The  new  woman  will  never  earn  our 
living  by  the  sweat  of  her  brow.  It  would  wash 
off  her  complexion." 

"That's  unkind,"  said  the  Fellow  in  the 
Corner. 

"Is  it  ?  I  don't  know.  I  am  afraid  the  new 
woman  will  find  that  in  that  proud  sphere  she 
seeks  to  win,  that  sphere  from  which  she  would 
displace  man,  selfish  man,  she'll  get  more  kicks 
than  ha'pence.  But  no — the  new  woman  is  not 
a  rebellion  ;  she's  a  misconception.  There  can 
be  nothing  new,  particularly  in  a  rebellious  wom 
an.  She  has  existed  always;  she  will  exist  al 
ways.  They  talk  of  harmony,  of  peace,  of  love, 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing  being  the  result  of 
agreement.  It's  all  nonsense."  And  the  Old 
123 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

The  New  Man  got  up  and  began  walking  up  and  down  the 
Woman  room.  "Harmony  is  the  result  of  resistance  ; 
peace  is  the  balance  of  antagonistic  forces  ;  love 
is  an  eternal,  unsatisfied  craving.  Everywhere, 
opposition,  resistance,  rebellion,  and — such  is 
life  !" 

He  took  a  few  more  turns  up  and  down  the 
room  and  then  sat  down. 

"I  think,  myself,"  he  went  on  after  a  little,  "I 
think  that  women  are  not  as  rebellious  in  their 
hearts  toward  men  as  they  are  toward  their  own 
sex.  Is  it  the  men  who  make  the  laws  for 
women  after  all  ?  The  rebellious  woman  is  gen 
erally  rather  popular  with  men — barring  her  hus 
band  ;  and  I  think,  if  the  punishment  were  to  be 
in  the  hands  of  men,  she  would  get  off  lightly, 
not  to  say  very  comfortably.  Only  the  dramat 
ists  and  the  novelists  are  fomenting  this  dispute, 
and  the  novelists  are  women  for  the  most  part. 
The  vast  masses  of  both  sexes  are  not  seriously 
impressed  with  it.  Ah  me  !  It  is  like  a  wom 
an's  reasoning — claiming  that  the  men  are  keep 
ing  them  down,  when  men  trust  women  far  more 
than  women  do  themselves." 

"I  don't  know  about  that." 

"My  friend,  how  can  a  woman  ever  expect  to 
have  need  of  a  night-key,  when  she's  frightened  to 
death  to  go  a  block  by  herself  after  dark  ?  The 
trouble  about  the  female  cranks  who  are  clamor 
ing  for  latchkeys  and  privileges  is,  that  none  of 
124 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

them  ever  tried  going  out  alone,  and  finding  her    The  Nezv 
way  home  by  herself,  if  she  missed  the  last  car,    Woman 
and  had  n't  the  money  for  a  hack.     If  she  ever 
had   tried    it   she   would   have   seen   the   imprac 
ticability  of  woman  ever  being  as  independent  as 
man.     It  is  not  possible." 

"But  she  might  get  an  escort,"  suggested  the 
Sentimental  Man. 

"Well,  she  can  now.  I  think  that  if  she  is 
escorted  by  a  gentleman,  known  to  be  such — and 
even  the  new  woman,  I  hope,  does  not  desire  the 
acquaintance  of  any  one  who  is  not — there  is  no 
very  adverse  comment.  You  see,  those  women 
don't  understand  that  after  all  the  privilege  men 
deny  them,  which  they  admit  to  themselves,  is 
that  of  being  in  bad  company,  and  engaging  in 
adventures  they  never  care  to  tell  anybody 
about." 

"So  you  think  everything  is  all  right  as  it  is," 
said  the  Practical  Man. 

"No,"  said  the  Old  Man,  gravely.  "No !  There 
are  women  who  have  a  right  to  be  rebellious — to 
be  sustained  in  rebellion — but  they  are  the  kind 
that  do  not  rebel.  They  are  women  to  whom 
rebellion  brings  no  satisfaction  ;  patriots  of  the 
domestic  hearth  who  suffer — sometimes  die — for 
the  old-fashioned  cause  of  true  love." 

"Don't  mind  him !  Don't  you  see  he  has  rose 
buds  in  his  coat  ?" 

125 


THE  SEEDY   GENTLEMAN 

The  New  "It  was  a  new  woman  put  them  there,"  said 
Woman  the  Old  Man  proudly,  "and  you  fellows  are  en 
vious.  I  can  see  it  in  your  eyes.  Ah,  the  new 
woman  puts  them  in  with  a  daintier  grace,  maybe 
with  more  fearlessness  than  the  old." 

"She  does  n't  mean  it  like  the  old  one." 

"Does  she  not  ?  Maybe  not  ;  but  it  feels  just 
as  good.  I  have,"  said  the  Old  Gentleman,  with 
an  apologetic  cough,  "I  have  noticed  in  my  limited 
experience  that  it  grows  more  common,  this  sort 
of  thing,  since  the  new  woman  came  in.  I  no 
tice  that  they  seem  to  like  to  do  this  sort  of 
thing.  Don't  you?"  and  he  turned  suddenly  on 
a  young  man  with  a  large  boutonniere. 

"I — I — don't  know.  I  bought  this  one,"  and 
he  blushed. 

"He's  lying,"  said  his  neighbor,  sotto  voce. 

"No,  gentlemen,"  said  the  Old  Man,  lifting 
glass.  "I  am  inclined  to  encourage  the  new 
woman.  There  is  a  delightful  lack  of  nervous 
ness  about  her.  She  makes  herself  very  agree 
able  openly.  She's  not  a  bit  afraid  you  're  going 
to  think  she  is  madly  in  love  with  you,  because 
she  puts  a  flower  in  your  buttonhole.  That  is,  I 
am  aware,  in  some  sense  an  objection  ;  but  it 
gives  us  unfortunates  who  are  not  lady  killers, 
some  little  chance  to  think  we  have  attractions. 
And  if  she  wants  you  to  marry  her,  she  lets  you 
know — which  is,  either  as  a  hint,  a  warning,  or 
126 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

a  desirable  consummation,  a  tremendous  advance    The  New 
in  the  progress  of  human  comfort.     You  can  get    Woman 
out  of  the  way,  or  stay  right  along,  just  as  you 
feel  about  it.     She  is  a  great  and  delightful  in 
vention — the  new  woman.     Here's  to  her  !" 

The  Seedy  Gentleman  paused  a  little,  and  then 
went  on  more  seriously. 

"I  only  know  that  the  new  woman  is  not  what 
you  laugh  at.  She  knows  more  about  science 
than  you  do.  She  is  feeling  that  she  has  a  soul 
as  well  as  a  brain,  and  that  soul  makes  her  more 
than  a  mother  to  children,  though  no  less  of 
that,  and  a  being  independent  of,  and  superior 
to,  man,  even  if  man  be  her  husband.  In  days 
of  old  the  woman's  life  was  in  the  man  and  in 
her  children.  Nowadays  women  are,  by  this  club 
business  as  much  as  anything  else,  developing  a 
life  which  is  independent  of  husband  or  family. 
It  is  not  wicked  ;  it  is  not  wrong  ;  it  is  not  the 
double  life  a  man  leads.  But,  just  the  same, 
some  day  you  men,  who  are  content  to  grub  for 
money,  and  are  too  tired  after  you  've  got  through 
work  to  educate  yourselves  in  anything,  except, 
maybe,  poker  ;  you  men  to  whom  art  and  science 
and  literature  and  music  are  mere  entertaining 
fads,  contemptible  beside  the  tremendous  genius 
of  buying  something  for  a  dollar,  and  selling  it 
for  a  dollar  and  ten  cents,  will  find  yourselves 
reduced  to  mere  fathers  of  families,  too  ignorant 
to  be  invited  to  your  wives'  receptions." 
127 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

The  New       Nobody  answered,  and  the  Old  Man  lay  back 
Woman   in  his  chair  and  looked  at  the  moon,  now  high 
over  the  housetops. 

"Knowledge,"  he  went  on  in  his  tone  of  reverie, 
"what  is  it  worth?  All  that  is  in  life  that  is  sweet 
or  sad  we  never  know — we  only  feel,  God  help 
us!" 


128 


MACBETH    SEES    HIMSELF 


MACBETH    SEES    HIMSELF 

"Touching  those  brain  waves,"  said  the  Seedy  Macbeth 
Gentleman,  standing  up  with  his  back  to  the  fire,  sees  himself 
with  a  graceful  wobble. 

"I  thought  his  brain  was  a  little  wavy,"  re 
marked  one  of  the  crowd. 

"He's  brains  all  over,  apparently,  then,"  said 
another. 

"When  you  have  quite  finished  those  rude 
allusions  to  my  nervous  system,"  replied  the 
Old  Man,  "we  will  proceed.  Touching  those 
brain  waves,  I  may  observe  that,  as  usual,  science 
is  behind  the  ordinary  intelligence.  I  have  known 
of  those  brain  waves  for  a  long  time." 

"So  have  we,"  said  the  Candid  Man. 

"Hardly  likely.  To  realize  brain  waves  one 
must  have  brains.  John,  give  the  gentlemen 
something  to  make  them  intelligent.  As  I  said 
to  Lady  Macbeth " 

"To  whom  ?" 

"To  Lady  Macbeth." 

"The  same  old  wave." 

"I  had  a  theatre  party  this  evening." 

"Oh  !     Who  was  there  ?" 

"There  were  Macbeth,  Lady  Macbeth,  Shakes 
peare  and  myself." 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Macbeth  "Did  you  meet  them  at  the  ferry  ?"  asked  the 
sees  himself  Fellow  in  the  Corner. 

"Yes.  We  all  came  over  from  the  shades  to 
gether.  I  dined  with  Shakespeare." 

"Dined  ?" 

"Yes,  of  course,  dined." 

"Where  does  Shakespeare  eat?"  asked  the 
Practical  Man. 

"Oh,  he  lives  at  Mrs.  MacStinger's  boarding- 
house  in  the  Elysian  fields." 

"And  what  do  they,  eat  there  ?" 

"Oh,  the   souls   of  chickens   and  things." 

"And  what  do  they  drink  ?" 

"Only  spirits,"  said  the  old  man  blandly.  "But 
as  I  was  saying,  I  invited  them  all  to  come  to 
the  theatre.  Somehow  they  heard  that  'Mac 
beth'  was  being  played.  I  saw  at  once,  gentle 
men,  the  danger,  and  I  tried  to  persuade  them 
to  go  somewhere  else.  It  was  of  no  avail.  They 
would  go." 

"Well,  what  happened  ?" 

"Macbeth  and   Shakespeare  don't  speak  now." 

"Have  a  fight  ?"  asked  the  Candid  Man. 

"Well,  if  there  had  not  been  ladies  present  I 
fancy  Shakespeare  would  have  been  badly  off. 
You  see,  Macbeth  enjoyed  it  very  much  at  first. 
He  had  never  seen  anything  like  it.  It  did  not 
occur  to  him  for  some  time  that  it  was  all  his 
story.  You  see,  he  never  knew  himself  by  the 
name  of  Macbeth.  His  name  was  Macbeathad 
MacFinlegh.  Yes,  the  witches  seemed  to  impress 
132 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

him.     He  was  a  superstitious  fellow.     Of  course,    Macbeth 
he  didn't  recognize  his  clothes.     But  he  thought   sees  himself 
that  that  man  Macbeth  was  quite  a  heroic  kind 
of  a  chap.     Well,  everything  went  well  till  I  put 
my  foot  in  it." 

"'Whit's  this  maist  extror'ny  rig-a-ma-jig?' 
he  asked. 

"  'Why,  don't  you  know  this  story  ?'  I  re 
turned. 

"  'I  dinna  ken  a  domd  thing  aboot  it.' 

"  'Or  those  incidents  ?' 

"  'What  fur  dac  ye  suppose  I  wid  be  speerin  at 
ye  'gin  I  kent  it  a'  ?' " 

Somebody  broke  in  here  with  a  query  as  to 
what  kind  of  dialect  Macbeth  should  have  used. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  the  Old  Man,  "I  supposed 
you  had  read  Barrie  and  Ian  Maclaren.  Any  way, 
I  went  on : 

"  'Why,'  I  said  to  Macbeth,  'this  is  your  story.' 

"  'Is  that  mysel'  ?' 

'  'That  is  yoursel','  I  said  with  a  bow.  'You 
will  see  your  good  lady  presently.' 

"Hae  they  got  me  intul't  ?"  asked  Lady  Mac 
beth,  very  much  pleased. 

"Certainly,  my  lady,"  I  said. 

They  both  became  deeply  interested.  When 
Lady  Macbeth  came  on,  Macbeth  made  a  long, 
critical  study  of  her. 

"I'm  thinkin'  that's  no  a'  richt,"  he  said,  dubi 
ously.  "I  doot  if  ye  wid  hae  leeved  throo't, 
Gruoch  Mac  Boedhe,  gin  ye  had  na  had  mair 

133 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Macbeth   bane.     An'  ye  were  na  jist  sae  pretty." 
sees  himself       "Gruoch  what  ?"  interjected  an  inquirer. 

"That  was  Lady  Macbeth's  name,"  answered 
the  Old  Gentleman. 

"Nae  but  ye  war  a  fine  wiman  in  your  day, 
Gruoch.  I'm  nae  saein'  onythin'  aboot  that," 
went  on  Macbeth. 

"I'm  thinkin'  mysel',"  said  Lady  Macbeth,  "I 
wis  a  wee  thocht  sonsier.  But  I  widna  hae  kent 
it  wis  yoursel',  laird.  Ye've  sae  changed." 

Shakespeare  sat  in  the  back  of  the  box.  He 
kept  asking  me  what  they  were  saying  ;  he  could 
not  understand  them.  He  wasn't  happy,  and  he 
wanted  to  get  out.  But  they  would  not  let  him 
go.  The  trouble  came  in  the  murder  scenes. 

"Whit's  the  matter  wi'  him  ?"  the  visitors  asked 
when  Macbeth  saw  the  dagger  in  the  air. 

Shakespeare  started  in  to  explain,  for  he  was 
getting  very  nervous. 

"It  was  Hollinshed,"  he  said  to  Macbeth.  "It 
was  Hollinshed  !  Thou  canst  not  say  I  did  it." 

"He  is  now  going  to  kill  Duncan  and  take  the 
crown,"  I  remarked.  "You  shall  see  later  how — ' 

"Whit's  he  gaun  to  kill  him  wi'?"  asked  Mac 
beth. 

"The  dagger." 

"Wha-a-t  ?    That  wee  bit  thing  ?" 

"I  assure  you,"  I  said,  "this  is  one  of  the  most 
artistic  scenes  in  any  play.  This  is  artistic — " 

"Arteestic  ?"  yelled  Macbeth. 

We  both  thought  he  was  going  to  kill  Shakes- 
134 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

peare  for  making  him  a  murderer,  and  we  tried   Macbeth 
to  put  in  a  pacifying  word.  sees  himself 

"Arteestic  !  Di'  ye  ca'  that  arteestic  ? 
Wh-a-a-t?  A  man  like  me  kill  anither  wi'  a 
knife  !  Arteestic  !" 

"Well — I  thought — "  said  Shakespeare,  "that's 
what  you  would  do — and  I — " 

"Ye  made  me  arteestic,  did  ye  ?"  asked  Macbeth 
with  a  sneer.  "Did  ye  nae  ken  that  I  wid  hae 
split  his  heed  open  wi'  a  club  ?" 

"You  killed  him,  anyway,"  I  said. 

"Killed  him  ?  Ma  certie  !  I  killed  him — but 
no'  that  way." 

"In  open  fight — like  a  man,  I  suppose  ?" 

"I  dinna  ken  whit  ye  mean  by  open  fight.  It 
wis  aye  open  fight  wi'  us.  We  had  nae  ither 
amusement." 

"And  you  were  the  ambitious  woman  who  won 
for  your  husband  the  crown  ?"  I  said  to  Lady 
Macbeth. 

"I  dinna  ken  about  that.  Nane  o'  us  wis  par 
ticular,  whin  we  could  mak  onything  by  it.  The 
men  jist  gaed  about  killin'  ane  anither,  and  if  oor 
husbands  gaed  'oot,  an'  didna'  happen  tae  come 
back — weel — we  kent  they  were  deed,  an'  we  got 
anither  man." 

"It  was  a  heroic  age — an  age  of  tragic  deeds," 
I  said. 

"I'm  no  sure  that  I  understan'  ye  ;  but  it  wis  a 
braw  life  we  had  then." 

When   Lady   Macbeth   came   out   in  the   sleep- 

135 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Macbeth    walking  scene  my  fair  guest  turned  to  me  and 
sees  himself   said  : 

"Will  ye  tell  me  whit  the  wiman's  daein  the 
noo  ?" 

"She  is  walking  in  her  sleep,"  I  said. 

"Hoo  can  she  wauk  in  her  sleep  ?"  asked  Mac 
beth. 

"You  see,  it  is  her  conscience  that  is  troubling 
her." 

"Whit  is  her  conscience  ?" 

"The  murder  of  Duncan  weighs  on  her  mind. 
She  seems  to  feel  the  blood  on  her  hand,  and 
she  can't  sleep  for  thinking  of  the  wicked  deed," 
I  explained. 

"Wha-a-t?"  said  Macbeth.  "Makin'  sich  a 
bother  about  a  naething  like  that." 

"A  naething  ?"  I  said. 

"I  wis  na  able  to  sleep  whin  I  didna  kill  the 
man,"  said  Macbeth. 

Shakespeare  had  wilted  in  the  back  of  the  box. 
He  had  nothing  to  say.  His  whole  play  seemed 
to  collapse  before  him.  When  the  great  fight 
came  at  the  end  Macbeth  turned  to  me. 

"Whit  are  they  daein  ?" 

"They  are  fighting,"  I  said. 

"Fechtin?  Weel,  weel !  Dae  ye  ca  that  fechtin? 
If  the  ither  fellow  focht  that  way  wi'  me  he  wid 
hae  been  deed  afore  he  began.  It's  no  the  least 
like  it." 

We  walked  out  of  the  theatre.     Macbeth  put  his 
hand  on  Shakespeare's  shoulder. 
136 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

"Wullie,"   he   said,   "ye  mac  be  a   clever  man,    Macbeth 
but  ye  dinna  ken  a  domd  thing  aboot  the  auld   sees  himself 
Scots.     Wha  tellt  ye  that  story  wis  the  biggest 
leear    I    iver    kent.     Wullie,    I'm    fashed    wi    ye 
makin  sic  a  puir  goloshin  o'  me!" 

And  they  got  into  an  argument  which  ended  in 
Shakespeare's  telling  Macbeth  that  he  never 
wanted  him  to  address  him  again.  I  left  them. 


137 


THE  CLUB  LIBRE 


THE    CLUB    LIBRE 

"Good     night!"     said     the     Seedy     Gentleman,    Club  Libre 
taking  his  hat  and  coat 

"Off  so  early?     And  you  haven't  said  a  word." 

"No,  I  am  not  satisfied,  gentlemen,  with  some 
of  the  comments  I  have  heard  passed  about  me. 
I  have  started  a  new  club.  I  am  the  president." 

"Yes  ?     What  is  it  ?" 

"It  is  a  club  for  bores  and  people  who  do  not 
speak  to  one  another.  Everybody  talks  to  him 
self,  and  he  can  say  just  what  he  thinks  about 
anything  or  anybody.  It  has  many  advantages. 
There  is  no  interruption  of  the  conversation  ; 
you  are  not  called  down  all  the  time  ;  and  you 
can  say  right  before  anybody,  what  you  would 
say  behind  his  back,  without  offense.  Good 
night !" 

The  old  man  walked  down  the  street  until  he 
reached  a  door  on  which,  engraved  on  a  brass 
plate,  was  the  legend, 

THE  CLUB  LIBRE. 

He  took  a  key  out  of  his  pocket,  opened  the 
door  and  went  up  stairs  into  a  cozy,  well-fur 
nished  room.  There  were  plenty  of  easy  chairs  in 
it,  and  on  the  back  of  each  chair  was  the  name  of 
the  member  to  whom  it  belonged.  There  were 
three  or  four  men  there,  all  sitting  with  their 
141 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Club  Libre  backs  to  one  another,  smoking  and  talking  to  the 
pictures,  which  were  all  portraits  of  celebrated 
bores,  or  the  windows,  but  never  looking  at  or 
addressing  one  another.  The  only  man  they  all 
spoke  to  was  the  servant,  who  took  the  orders. 
The  old  man  hung  up  his  hat  and  coat  and  went 
to  his  own  chair.  Nobody  said  anything,  but 
they  all  looked  up  with  a  frown  on  their  faces, 
going  on  with  their  soliloquies.  Then  one  fellow 
was  heard  to  say  : 

"Here's  that  confounded  bore,  the  president  ! 
I  suppose  he's  been  to  the  theatre,  and  he'll  drivel 
about  the  drama." 

"There  is  one  rule  of  the  club,"  said  the  Ora 
cle,  talking  apparently  to  a  gas  jet,  "that  peo 
ple  don't  need  to  listen  if  they  don't  want  to." 

"Some  people,"  said  the  bald-headed  man  with 
a  fringe  of  reddish  hair  around  the  back  of  his 
neck,  gazing  abstractedly  at  an  ash-receiver  on 
the  table,  "talk  so  loud  you  must  listen." 

"If  I  don't  want  to  hear,"  said  a  venerable 
chap  in  a  black  skull  cap,  looking  up  at  the  ceil 
ing,  "I  put  cotton  in  my  ears." 

"1  wish,"  put  in  a  weazened  fellow,  who  was 
absorbed  in  contemplation  of  a  fly  on  the  wall, 
"I  wish  some  fellows  would  stuff  their  mouths 
with  it." 

The  Old  Gentleman  lit  a  cigar  and,  leaning 
back  in  his  chair,  continued  his  contemplation 
of  the  gas  jet. 

142 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

''I  am  sorry,"  he  remarked  to  it,  "I  am  sorry    Club  Libre 
they  are  gone." 

"The  trouble  about  some  bores,"  said  a  voice 
near  him,  "is  that  you  don't  know  what  they're 
talking  about.  It's  bad  enough  when  you  do." 

"But  they're  gone,  just  the  same,"  went  on  the 
Old  Fellow.  "The  low  comedian  and  the  sou- 
brette  are  no  more.  Those  were  happy  days  of 
the  drama,  when  the  dramatist  gave  every  house 
hold  a  comic  man  servant  and  a  singing  chamber 
maid.  Now  they  put  the  servants  in  their  places, 
and  the  audience  pay  no  more  attention  to  them 
than  if  they  really  were  servants." 

"Some  men,"  said  the  bald-headed  member, 
addressing  his  cigar,  "would  like  to  have  a  song 
and  dance  between  the  courses  by  the  butler  and 
the  housemaid." 

"I  don't  see  any  difference  in  plays,"  re 
marked  the  weazened  old  man  to  a  pattern  of 
the  carpet.  "They  're  the  same  darned  old  things 
over  again.  Men  talking  love  stuff  to  women, 
and  women  running  after  men  and  then  run 
ning  away  from  them.  Bah  !" 

"I  can  see  a  reason  for  women  running  away 
from  some  men,"  said  the  venerable  chap,  smil 
ing  at  the  door. 

"I  liked  the  plays  when  they  used  to  pair  them 
all  off  at  the  end,"  went  on  the  Seedy  Gentle 
man,  speaking  to  the  fireplace.  "It  was  so  pleas 
ant  to  go  home  thinking  they  were  all  fixed  and 
comfortable." 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Club  Libre  "If  a  man  has  been  married,"  the  bald-headed 
man  said  contemptuously  to  a  match,  "of  course, 
he  knows  how  fixed  and  comfortable  he  is." 

"We  have  changed  all  that,"  continued  the 
Old  Fellow.  "We  don't  pair  any  of  them  in 
the  latest  plays.  The  old  play  ended  with  a 
wedding  ;  the  new  play  will  end  presently  with 
a  divorce.  But  the  comic  servant  and  the  pret 
ty  chambermaid  are  all  out  of  it.  They  always 
used  to  fall  in  love,  quarrel,  make  up,  and  pair 
off  like  their  masters  and  mistresses  when  the 
curtain  fell.  Nowadays  they  are  not  apparently 
on  speaking  terms,  and  if  they  do  any  lovemak- 
ing  it  is  in  the  kitchen.  They  used  to  be  part 
of  the  family  ;  but  now  they  are  merely  hired 
things  who  walk  on  and  walk  off,  bringing  let 
ters  and  doing  messages.  Ah,  me  !  we  change. 
There  was  an  affectionate  relation  of  old  between 
master  and  servant.  That  is  no  more." 

"If  some  people's  wives  could  speak,"  said  the 
weazened  old  man  to  the  cornice,  "they'd  let  a 
flood  of  light  in  on  the  subject." 

"What  rot  some  men  talk  !"  remarked  the 
bald-headed  man,  striking  a  match  viciously. 
"Doesn't  some  idiot  know  the  servant  is  the  mas 
ter  now  and  the  maid  the  mistress  ?" 

"How  charming  it  was,"  went  on  the  Oracle, 
"when  the  white-headed  old  gentleman  patted  the 
soubrette  on  the  head,  and  told  her  he  would 
raise  her  wages." 

"If  some  men  would  keep  house,"  came  a  sotto 
144 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

voce  from  the  corner,  "they'd  find  out  that  the   Club  Libre 
maid  raises  her  own  wages  nowadays." 

" — And  when  the  play  was  over  there  was  al 
ways  a  dowry  for  the  maid,  when  she  married, 
and  the  generous  master  set  the  comic  servant 
up  in  a  public  house." 

"Does  anybody  know  what  it  costs  to  start  a 
saloon  ?"  the  bald-headed  man  asked  of  his 
empty  glass. 

"What  simple,  honest,  cheerful  unpretending 
girls  those  singing  chambermaids  were  in  those 
days,"  soliloquized  the  Seedy  Gentleman.  "They 
wore  cheap  print  gowns,  and  had  their  hair  all 
frowsy,  and  their  sleeves  up  to  their  elbows.  Now 
they  are  coiffured  and  capped,  and  dressed  in 
dainty  dresses  just  from  the  dressmaker's,  and 
they  are  so  much  prettier  than  some  of  the  mis 
tresses,  that  there  would  be  far  more  excuse  for 
the  flirtation  with  the  master  than  there  used  to 
be,  when  that  was  the  fashion  in  plays." 

"I  am  surprised  somebody  doesn't  tell  a  cer 
tain  fool  member  of  this  club  that  that  kind  of 
maid  would  not  last  two  weeks  in  any  well- 
regulated  family,"  said  the  bald-headed  man  con 
fidentially  to  a  picture  on  the  wall. 

"If  some  heads  of  families  were  well  regulat 
ed,"  remarked  the  weazened  old  man  to  the  toe 
of  his  boot,  "it  might  be  quite  possible." 

"Ah,  me  !"  sighed  the  Seedy  Gentleman  to  his 
hot  Scotch.  "The  luxury  and  the  style  and  the 

145 


THE   SEEDY   GENTLEMAN 

Club  Libre  lavish  display  of  the  menage  in  the  drama  now 
adays  !" 

"People  have  to  be  millionaires  nowadays  to 
be  able  to  have  servants  at  all,"  growled  the 
bald-headed  man  to  the  waiter. 

"To  find  poverty  and  affectionate  service,  and 
true  love,  one  has  to  go  to  the  ten-cent  theaters, 
where  the  aristocrat  is  the  villain,  and  virtue  is 
always  triumphant  still.  Ah  !  for  the  old 
drama  !  The  cheerful  soubrette  sticking  to  her 
old  mistress  in  poverty,  bringing  her  cold 
chicken  and  ice  cream  and  orange  marmalade 
when  she  was  starving,  and  dancing  a  breakdown 
for  her  while  she  and  her  hungry  child  ate! 
The  true-hearted  servant  who  followed  his  young 
master  through  thick  and  thin,  and  saved  him 
from  all  sorts  of  dangers,  and  led  up  to  all 
giving  him  the  curtain  when  it  fell !" 

"Why  don't  some  idiots  go  and  be  a  play  ?" 
asked  the  bald-headed  man,  blandly  addressing 
a  fly  that  had  fallen  into  his  glass. 

The  Oracle  having  finished  his  hot  Scotch,  got 
up  and  wandered  out,  without  the  faintest  sign 
of  consciousness  that  there  was  anybody  else  in 
the  room. 


146 


WEDDINGS 


ABOUT  WEDDINGS 

The  Seedy  Gentleman  was  sitting  by  ths  fire.    Weddings 
They  paid  no  attention  to  him.     He  began  hum 
ming  to  himself  the  wedding  march  from  "Loh 
engrin." 

"Premonitory    symptom  ?"    asked    somebody. 

"When  I  am  married,  gentlemen,  there  shall 
be  no  'Lohengrin'  march  played,  I  assure  you." 

"Why  ?     Don't  you  like  it  ?" 

It  is  the  most  sadly  prophetic  music  to  me. 
It  forebodes  parting,  unhappiness,  divorce. 
Didn't  Wagner  write  it  when  he  knew  the  un 
fortunate  ending  of  the  opera  ?  But  we  have  no 
omens  nowadays.  We  are  too  sensible  for  that. 
Still,  if  you  don't  mind,  the  Mendelssohn  march 
will  do  for  me — if  ever  there  is  any  opportunity 
for  its  introduction.  It  just  occurs  to  me,  gen 
tlemen,"  said  the  old  man,  thoughtfully,  "that 
one  long-felt  want  has  been  a  wedding  march 
for  old  men.  If  the  'Lohengrin'  were  not  so 
suggestive,  perhaps  it  might  do,  but  when  a 
bald-headed  old  fellow,  who  should  be  hiring  a 
nurse,  instead  of  marrying  a  young  woman, 
marches  up  to  the  altar,  I  am  free  to  confess  I 
think  Mendelssohn's  march  is  altogether  too  en 
thusiastic.  Fancy  a  fellow  with  gout  in  both  feet 
entering  the  church  or  leaving  it  trying  to  keep 

149 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Weddings  time  to  the  'strains  of  Mendelssohn's  'Wedding 
March !'  It's  incongruous." 

"Don't  you  think  an  old  man  can  feel  the  spirit 
of  love  as  well  as  a  young  man  ?"  asked  the 
Practical  Chap. 

"I  have  too  much  respect  for  myself  to  deny 
it.  I  don't  believe  in  wedding  marches  at  all 
after  you've  got  to  an  age  when  a  desire  for  per 
sonal  comfort  takes  the  place  of  true  love." 

The  old  man  got  up  and  got  his  pipe,  and 
when  he  had  lit  it  and  settled  down  he  said  : 

"What  a  strange,  sad  tone  there  is  to  that 
'Lohengrin'  march,  hidden  under  a  strain  of 
victory  !  Ah  me  !  There  are  some  funny  things  in 
this  world.  Strange  that  a  thin  old  chap,  with 
spectacles  on  nose,  drawing  a  bow  across  the 
strings,  can  speak  the  language  of  the  soul,  and 
a  fat  Dutchman  blowing  into  a  hollow  reed  can 
make  you  feel  the  story  of  an  agonized,  hopeless 
love  !" 

"John,  give  him  something  to  drink." 

"It  is  such  a  curious,  ridiculous  mess  of  incon 
gruities,  is  this  world,  anyway." 

The  old  man  laughed  all  to  himself. 

"What  are  you  laughing  at  ?"  asked  the  Fel 
low  in  the  Corner. 

"I  was  laughing  to  think  how  little  we  do  to 
enjoy  ourselves  and  how  much  we  spend  to  be 
entertained.  Here  we  are,  a  whole  lot  of  human 
beings  dumped  down  on  this  earth,  paying  one 
another  to  do  things  for  us,  getting  paid  for  do- 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

ing  things  for  others — and  this  is  life.  A  man  Weddings 
wants  to  get  married  ;  he  has  to  get  a  license, 
a  minister,  an  organist,  a  few  hacks,  a  caterer — 
heaven  only  knows  what  all — he  and  his  father- 
in-law,  between  them ;  and  they  have  all  to  be 
paid  for.  It's  a  funny  kind  of  thing  to  consider 
so  very,  very  seriously." 

"We've  got  to  take  life  seriously  sometimes," 
said  the  Candid  Man. 

"Yes,  in  everything  that's  worth  living  for. 
That  is  where  we  rarely  take  life  seriously.  But 
we  were  talking  of  wedding  music.  We've 
got  to  have  a  reformation  in  wedding  music. 
We  are  away  behind  the  times  in  it.  We  are  up 
to  date  in  marriage,  but  we  still  cling  to  Men 
delssohn,  and  'Lohengrin'  and  marriage  bells,  and 
all  that  sort  of  thing." 

"What  do  you  want  ?"  asked  the  Fellow  in  the 
Corner. 

"Well,  I  don't  know ;  but  it  seems  to  me  that 
we  might  put  in  appropriate  music.  The  whole 
trend  of  music  is  toward  the  descriptive.  They 
make  the  orchestra  now  illustrate  all  phases  of 
feeling,  emotion  and  sentiment.  Marriage  used 
to  be  a  serious  matter.  It  was  for  life.  It  isn't 
any  more.  It  is  a  kind  of  momentary  hysteria, 
except  in  old  men,  and — well,  I  think  old  men, 
when  they  get  married,  should  be  taken  to  some 
secret  place,  and  the  whole  ceremony  gone 
through  in  a  whisper.  We  are  not  like  our  fath 
ers.  They  looked  upon  happiness  as  the  chief 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Weddings  end  of  man.  They  always  looked  on  the  bright 
side  of  things.  We  don't  do  that.  We  say :  'No, 
that  confounded  cloud  has  rain  in  it;  never  mind 
the  silver  lining.  Mary,  bring  my  umbrella !'  " 

The  old  man  stopped,  thinking. 

"By  the  way,  gentlemen,  did  it  ever  occur  to 
you  we  don't  make  any  of  those  old  and  cheery 
proverbs  any  more  ?  Ah,  well,  it's  part  of  our 
pessimistic  ideas." 

"Pessimistic  now  ?" 

"No  ;  bless  you,  no  !  It  is  only  people  who 
write  books  and  plays  who  are  pessimistic.  The 
public  are  not.  But  it  is  the  wild-eyed,  har- 
rowed-up  souled,  deeply  concerned  people,  who 
are  full  of  sympathy  for  the  misery  of  other  peo 
ple  who  are  perfectly  happy,  who  lecture  you 
and  write  warnings  for  you.  They  have  inspired 
me  with  this  idea  of  the  inappropriateness  of 
wedding  marches  and  marriage  bells." 

"What  would  you  suggest  ?" 

"Well,  I  would  have  the  organ  play  when  the 
wedding  party  came  in,  some  popular  air,  such 
as  'They  all  do  it  and  sometimes  they  rue  it.'  I 
would  have  musical  interpolations  in  the  ser 
vice.  I'd  have,  for  instance,  somebody  sing  'Oh, 
Promise  Me  !'  when  it  began,  and  let  the  pro 
cession  go  out  to  'Some  Day'  or  'It  Was  a 
Dream,'  or  something  equally  appropriate  to  the 
prospective  outcome.  If  a  widow  came  up  to  be 
married,  I'd  like  to  have  the  organ  play  'Slap- 
bang  !  Here  We  Are  Again,'  when  she  came  in. 
152 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

I  think  some  of  the  circus  tunes  might  come  in    Weddings 
very  well,  too,  as  suggestive  of  the  near  future. 
Oh,  there  are  lots  of  appropriate  tunes  to  be  got." 

"What  would  you  like  played  at  your  wed 
ding  ?" 

"Oh,  something  light  and  merry,  like  'Here's  a 
howdy-do.'  But  I  don't  think  that  weddings  are 
conducted  properly,  anyway.  I  think  it  is  the 
duty  of  the  clergyman  to  take  some  interest  in 
the  young  people.  The  old  questions  are  out  of 
date.  He  should  ask  them,  first  of  all,  'Do  you 
know  what  you  are  doing,  you  two?'  'Do  you 
think  really  you  can  stand  one  another  long  ?' 
He  should  take  them  aside  and  talk  to  them  sep 
arately.  He  should  say  to  the  girl,  'Now,  you 
don't  know,  because  you're  young  and  enthusi 
astic,  and  romantic,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing  ; 
but  it  is  my  duty  to  tell  you  that  nearly  every 
man  needs  a  great  deal  of  putting  up  with.  You 
think  you  love  this  fellow,  but  you  don't,  really. 
You're  pretty  sure  to  find  that  out  after  you're 
married,  and  then  there  will  be  trouble.  Of 
course,  if  you  've  made  up  your  mind,  I  have 
nothing  to  say.  It's  no  business  of  mine,  but  the 
common  experience  is  that  men  give  their  wives 
a  great  deal  of  real,  serious  trouble.'  Then  he 
should  take  the  man  aside  and  say  to  him,  'Have 
you  thought  this  thing  very  carefully  out?  Yes, 
I  know  you  love  her,  and  you  can  't  live  without 
her  and  all  that  kind  of  thing,  but  we  all  think 
that  some  time  or  other.'  If  he's  a  true  friend, 

153 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Weddings  as  a  minister  ought  to  be,  of  all  his  patients,  he 
should  say  to  the  young  man  :  'I  don't  like  the 
look  of  that  girl.  She  looks  to  me  like  a  flirt. 
It  is  my  duty,  as  a  judge  of  human  nature,  to 
tell  you  I  think  she'll  lead  you  an  awful  life. 
Now,  if  you  like  to  marry  her  after  I  have  point 
ed  these  things  out  to  you,  you  can  go  ahead 
with  the  ceremony.' " 

"He'd  have  a  great  time,  wouldn't  he?" 

"Then  he  ought  to  warn  them  other  ways. 
When  the  girl  swears  to  love,  honor  and  obey, 
he  should  say  to  the  young  man,  'You  must  not 
take  that  at  all  literally  ;  she  does  not  mean  it 
that  way,'  and  when  the  young  man  swears  to 
everything  he's  asked,  he  should  point  out  to  the 
girl  that  he  is  probably  lying,  under  the  excite 
ment  of  the  moment." 

The  old  man  stopped  and  looked  at  his  watch  ; 
as  he  got  up  he  said :  "Ah,  me !  The  Church 
and  the  divorce  court  are  getting  confused  with 
us,  anyway.  Wedlock  is  easily  opened  now  with 
a  skeleton  key." 

He  moved  across  the  room  a  trifle  unsteady, 
as  he  sometimes  became  in  these  long  talks. 
Then  he  came  back. 

"Gentlemen,  let  us  have  a  nightcap !  Here's  to 
the  old  fashion,  the  old,  old  fashion  of  love  ;  the 
old,  old  fashion  of  true  wedlock.  The  only  wed 
ding  music  that  men  and  women  who  love  and 
marry,  hear,  is  from  their  hearts,  and  those  will 
always  sing  the  old,  old  tune." 
154 


LIFE  IS  NEVER  THE  SAME  AGAIN 


LIFE  IS  NEVER  THE  SAME  AGAIN 

The  fire  was  blazing,  for  it  was  cold  and  damp   Life  is  never 
outside,  and  the  rain  was  pelting  on  the  window    \he  same  again 
panes.     The    Seedy    Gentleman,    rocking    to    and 
fro,  took  his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth  and  sighed. 

"And  life  is  never  the  same  again,"  he  quoted. 

"Is  the  doll  stuffed  with  sawdust  this  evening  ?" 
asked  the  Sentimental  Man. 

"Ah,  me  !  the  little  child's  toy  is  broken,  and 
life  is  never  the  same  again  ;  the  schoolboy's 
sweetheart  accepts  the  candy  of  another,  and  life 
is  never  the  same  again.  The  fair-haired  blue- 
eyed  maiden's  lover  is  false,  the  blue  eyes  fill 
with  tears,  and  life  is  never  the  same  again  ; 
the  man  finds  the  woman  he  loved  has  given  her 
hand  to  his  wealthy  rival,  and  life  is  never  the 
same  again.  Yet  the  child  gets  a  new  toy  ;  the 
schoolboy  gets  a  new  sweetheart  ;  the  young  maid 
gets  a  new  lover  ;  the  man  falls  in  love  with  an 
other  woman ;  and,  somehow,  life  seems  very 
much  the  same  again." 

"And  no  grief  ever  changes  life  to  anybody  ?" 
asked  the  Fellow  in  the  Corner. 

"Rarely,  but  sometimes  ;  and  it  is  terrible  when 
it  does.  No,  gentlemen,  human  nature  is  re 
markably  recuperative.  We  get  over  most 

157 


THE    SEEDY    GENTLEMAN 

Life  is  never  things.  You  can  see  it  all  the  time  in  the  play." 
the  same  again  "Play  ?  Pshaw  !" 

"I  don't  mean  the  play  itself  is  real.  Look  at 
the  audience  !  When,  just  as  the  curtain  falls, 
the  recreant  husband  rushes  in,  after  he  has  been 
guilty  of  every  deceit  possible,  and  the  wife  takes 
him  in  her  arms  and  kisses  him,  the  audience  is 
satisfied,  pleased.  Life  is  going  to  be  the  same 
again.  They  know  how  it  is  themselves.  Yes, 
Georgia  might  perhaps  have  preferred  John,  but, 
after  all,  life  is  much  the  same  with  Alexander. 
Philip  may  regret  losing  Gertrude  for  certain 
excellences  she  possesses,  but  Beatrice  is  quite 
as  charming  in  another  way.  And  some  of  them 
have  to  take  whom  they  can  get,  yet  life  is  ever 
the  same  again." 

"You  'd  better  take  a  drink.  You  are  getting 
cynical,"  said  the  Sentimental  Man. 

"Well,  come,  isn't  it  so?  Hasn't  it  been  so 
with  you  ?  You  know  you  thought " 

"Don't  get  personal !" 

"I  see,  I  am  right.  It  is  not  disappointment  and 
deceit,  gentlemen,  that  make  life  never  the  same 
again.  I  fancy  the  greatest  change  in  the  life  of 
ordinary  men  or  women  is  the  moment  when  love 
comes  to  them.  Life  is  never  the  same  again 
after  that.  They  have  found  a  power  superior  to 
all  others.  They  have  lost  self  control,  and  the 
sun  may  shine  or  the  night  may  fall  for  a  hun 
dred  years,  they  '11  never  get  it  back.  And  love  is 
like  any  other  taste  once  acquired.  It  has  to  be 

158 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

gratified,  and  opportunity  is  apt  to  develop  it  into  Life  is  never 
a  habit."  the  same  again 

"Is  this  your  own  experience  you  're  giving 
us  ?"  asked  the  Cynic. 

"To  some  extent,  gentlemen,  only  to  some  ex 
tent.  I  hope  I  have  had  hours  of  constancy. 
Constancy  is  not  altogether  so  agreeable  or  ad 
mirable  as  it  is  supposed  to  be  by  theorists.  Con 
stancy,"  said  the  Seedy  Gentleman  sententiously, 
lying  back  and  stretching  himself  out,  "con 
stancy  is  a  much  overrated  quality.  Constancy 
is  a  jewel,  so  somebody  said,  and,  like  jewels, 
only  valuable  because  of  its  rarity." 

"You  're  talking  about  consistency,  ain't  you  ?" 

"Sisters,  my  dear  sir.  The  same  family.  But 
have  you  ever  noticed  how  popular  those  plays 
are  that  have  old  loves  in  them  ?  How  exquis 
itely  sad  it  seems  to  be  to  most  people  to  recall 
their  old  sweethearts.  I  wonder  why  ?  Ah  me  ! 
The  past  is  always  so  much  sweeter  than  the 
present.  We  had  the  toothache  ;  we  had  to  be 
whipped  ;  we  had  lots  of  troubles  and  sorrows 
when  we  were  young  ;  but  the  headache  of  the 
present  makes  them  all  dear  to  us.  The  old 
love  !  It  was  a  momentary  infatuation  ;  it  was 
an  absurd,  senseless  dream  ;  it  would  have  spoiled 
all  the  fun  of  our  after  life  if  we  had  realized  it  ; 
and  yet  we  cry  over  the  faded  paper,  with  its 
musty  odor,  its  faint  handwriting,  its  ridiculous 
gush,  its  silly  ending.  It  is  the  might  have  been, 
gentlemen  !  We  can  still  dream  of  what  might 

159 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Life  is  never   have  been,  but  the  'is'  is  practical  and  with  us." 
the  same  again       "You  're  fond  of  dreaming,  you  say,"  remarked 
the  Fellow  in  the  Corner. 

"So  I  am.  It  is  pleasant,  it  is  inexpensive,  it 
has  no  responsibilities.  As  a  dream,  a  thing 
may  be  enjoyable  that  would  be  decidedly  incon 
venient  as  a  fact.  But  there  are,  on  this  old 
sweetheart  business,  an  hundred  of  books  and  a 
score  of  plays.  There  will  be  hundreds  more  ; 
and,  in  the  years  to  come,  the  same  sad  pleasure 
will  awaken  in  people  over  that  same  sadly  en 
joyable  dream  of  the  past.  It  is  curious,  gentle 
men,  very  curious,  but  in  real  life,  have  you  ever 
noticed  that  most  of  those  reunited  lovers  of 
their  youth  have  both  been  married  between 
whiles  ?  Once  in  a  while  you  find  an  example 
where  they  're  both  single  at  fifty  or  sixty  and 
get  married,  but  not  often.  You  do  frequently 
find  the  man  has  remained  a  bachelor.  He's 
shrewd.  He  has  wanted  to  see  what  kind  of  a 
wife  she  would  make,  and  if  he's  satisfied,  he 
feels  he  may  take  the  risk.  But  it  is  a  strong 
sentiment  that  keeps  a  woman  single,  all  be 
cause  a  man  has  drifted  away  from  her.  Do  you 
remember  that  play  in  which  the  fellow  comes 
back  in  about  thirty  years  with  gray  hair  ?"  asked 
the  Old  Man  of  the  Fellow  in  the  Corner. 

"Yes." 

"And  they  have  a  dispute  over  a  flower.  She 
finally  takes  a  faded  flower  from  a  little  case 
and  shows  it  him." 

160 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

"Yes.     I  remember."  Life  is  never 

"That  flower  kept  a  long  time,  didn't  it?"  the  same  again 

"It  does  seem  rather  long." 

"Oh,  it's  all  right.  Poetic  license,  of  course. 
But  the  woman  had  it  with  her." 

"That's  ridiculous.  Carrying  it  about  with 
her  for  thirty  years  !" 

"Not  at  all.  It  is  very  true  to  nature.  It  had 
become  a  habit  with  her,  like  an  old  knife  or  a 
bunch  of  keys,  or  anything  you've  kept  in  your 
pocket  for  a  while.  She  would  have  been  un 
comfortable  without  it.  It  looked  like  an  in 
finitely  tender  constancy,  all  the  same.  You  see. 
you  can't  tell  half  the  time  about  those  things. 
You  go  to  call  on  an  old  sweetheart.  It  is  years 
since  last  you  met  ;  and  you  find  a  picture  you 
gave  her  when  you  went  away,  in  a  frame  on  her 
table,  or  a  book  in  the  little  rack  you  made  her 
a  present  of  on  her  birthday  a  decade  ago.  It  is 
inexpressibly  thrilling.  Such  devotion  !  and — if 
you  only  knew  how  they  came  to  be  there,  you'd 
find  the  whole  thing  a  matter  of  careful  arrange 
ment.  Oh,  it's  the  same  with  you.  You've  fished 
out  something  from  an  old  bureau  you  've  hap 
pened  to  keep,  and  you — well — she  knows  you 
have  it  before  you  are  long  there.  She's  equally 
pleased." 

"Well,  it  shows  those  things  were  kept,"  put  in 
the  Sentimental  Man. 

"Yes,  that's  nothing — accident.  And  when 
you  go  away  she  watches  you  going  down  the 
161 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Life  is  never  street  and  says  to  herself,  'How  old  he's  getting  !' 
the  same  again  and  you  say  'I  expected  to  find  her  younger  look 
ing.'  You  put  all  the  keepsakes  away  out  of 
sight  ;  you  don't  call  any  more  ;  and — life  is  ex 
actly  the  same  again.  But  who  would  care  to  see 
a  play  so  true  to  real  life  ?  It  is  all  foolishness, 
perhaps,  but  we  do  sometimes  like  to  see  senti 
mental  happiness  come  to  others,  selfish  as  we 
are." 

"We're  not  so  bad,  after  all." 

"No.  We're  not.  How  pleasant  it  would  be  if 
sentimental  happiness  could  last  always !  Ah, 
sometimes  our  own  misfortunes  make  us  enjoy 
the  happiness  of  others,  we  could  so  much  enjoy 
in  ourselves.  I  think  there  are  few  women,  un 
happy  in  marriage  as  they  may  be,  who  counsel 
their  sisters  not  to  marry.  Perhaps  it  is  that 
they  realize  what  possibilities  there  are,  and  have 
the  charity  to  hope  the  others  will  not  make 
their  mistake.  The  old  bachelor  likes  those  old 
plays,  although  he  doesn't  want  you  to  know  it. 
He  pretends  not  to.  He  is  a  confirmed  crank, 
maybe  ;  but  when  the  years  have  crept  over  him 
and  his  head  is  white,  he  looks  back.  It  does 
not  matter  how  many  sweethearts  he  may  have 
had,  his  life  lacks  something  of  complete  fulfill 
ment.  And  unto  him  has  come  no  companion  to 
make  him  forget  what  might  have  been.  What 
might  have  been  is  all  he  has  to  comfort  him." 

The  Old  Gentleman  lay  back  in  his  chair  and 
fell  into  his  frequent  reverie. 
162 


THE  SEEDY   GENTLEMAN 

"The  might  have  been !"  he  murmured.  Life  is  never 
"Might  it  have  been  after  all  ?  We  do  not  know,  the  same  again 
If  we  had  been  able  to  see  all  clearly,  very  likely, 
possible  and  probable  as  it  looked,  from  the  be 
ginning  it  could  never  be.  We  like  to  delude  our 
selves  with  these  fancies.  We  believe  if  we  had 
willed  it  so,  it  would  have  been  so.  She  would 
have  said  'Yes !'  for  we  know,  we  are  sure,  she 
loved  us.  And  all  the  while,  perhaps,  it  was  the 
other  chap.  You  never  can  tell.  It  is  like  the 
election  ;  when  the  majority  speaks,  we  see  how 
hopeless  the  other  cause  was.  The  voice  of  the 
majority  is  the  voice  of  God.  And — the  other 
fellow  was  the  majority  !" 

A  gentle  snore  told  the  little  group  the  Seedy 
Gentleman  had  passed  into  dreamland. 


163 


LOVE    BALLADS 


ABOUT    LOVE    BALLADS 

"Thank  you,  John !"   said  the  Seedy  Gentleman,    Love  Ballads 
as  the  waiter  put  a  glass  before  him.    "Gentlemen, 
here  's  to  you !" 

"To  you,  old  man." 

"There  is  a  sound  as  of  much  bright  music  in 
my  ears ;  there  is  a  flash  as  of  many  bright  colors 
in  my  eye,  and,  generally,  I  feel  a  trifle  dazed." 

"What  have  you  been  doing?" 

"I  have  been  enjoying  myself  at  Gilbert's  opera, 
'The  Mountebanks.'  " 

"Oh !  The  usual  comic  opera  does  not  daze 
you,"  said  the  Cynical  Man. 

"No,  it  has  a  tendency  to  depress  you.  I  was 
thinking  of  the  change  in  love  songs  since  I  was  a 
boy.  I  don't  think  they  are  any  more  extravagant. 
They  're  perhaps  not  as  extravagant,  but  they 
sound  less  sincere." 

"Love  songs  never  were  sincere." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  Take  Sir  John  Suckling, 
take  all  of  those  old  simple  love  poets !  No,  they 
didn't  always  know  who  it  was  they  were  writing 
about,  but  they  wrote  all  the  more  charmingly  for 
that." 

"That  appears  to  need  explanation." 

"Does  it?     Well,  it's  intelligible  enough.     You 
can  make  a  perfect  ideal,  but  you  can't  make  a 
167 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Love  Ballads  perfect  woman.  Clorinda  may  have  a  beautiful 
pair  of  eyes  and  a  lovely  nose  and  radiant  hair; 
but  she  may  have  a  bad  chin,  or  a  large  pair  of 
ears,  or  her  feet  may  be  a  trifle  out  of  proportion. 
You  cannot  apostrophize  her  eyes  or  her  nose, 
without  thinking  of  that  chin  or  those  feet,  or 
whatever  is  defective.  You  can  easily  comprehend 
how  those  little  things  must  worry  a  poet. 
There's  your  Ethel " 

"Whose  Ethel?"  asked  the  Practical  Man,  to 
whom  he  had  turned. 

"You  are  always  taking  those  things  personally. 
You  are  writing  a  love  song  to  her." 

"Never  wrote  a  love  song  in  my  life." 

"Well,  call  it  doggerel,  if  you  like !  You  make  a 
verse  about  each  of  her  features  and  you  leave 
out  the,  let  us  say,  nose.  You  send  it  to  her.  She 
does  not  like  it.  She  understands  perfectly  well 
that  you  left  out  the  nose  because  it  did  not  lend 
itself  to  poetry.  But  the  poet  who  writes  of  an 
ideal  does  not  need  to  hesitate.  He  simply  im 
agines  every  feature  as  it  suits  his  verse ;  and  I 
have  sometimes  thought,  gentlemen,  sad  and 
painful  as  it  is,  if  we  were  to  take  the  poet's 
description  of  an  ideal  woman  and  make  a  sketch 
of  her  just  as  he  describes  her,  we  would  have  a 
singularly  badly  fitting  assortment  of  features  very 
often.  In  fact  she  would  be  an  absurd  kind  of  a 
thing.  Experts  in  beauty  will  tell  you  certain 
kinds  of  noses  do  not  go  well  with  certain 
kinds  of  chins,  and  certain  eyebrows  will  not 
168 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

match  certain  eyes,  and  all  sorts  of  things   like   Love  Ballads 

that.     Only  nature  usually  contradicts  experts  in 

anything,    and    most    of    the    time    the    prettiest 

woman    appears    from    description    to    be    rather 

plain." 

"You  seem  to  be  running  in  that  vein  lately," 
said  the  Fellow  in  the  Corner. 

"Gentlemen,  I  am  apt  to  digress.  But  I  was 
talking  of  love  songs  and  ballads  of  sentiment. 
Well,  of  course,  the  subject  is  inexhaustible,  and 
yet  impossible  now  to  be  original  upon.  Yes,  the 
old  poets  had  the  best  of  us.  The  subject  was 
new  in  poetry  in  all  countries  once;  but  we  are 
late  in  the  day,  and  it  grows  hard  to  write  orig 
inal  love  songs.  The  old  poet  could  write,  'If 
she  be  not  fair  to  me,  what  care  I  how  fair  she 
be.'  In  these  days  we  take  two  verses  to  say 
that,  and  we  never  say  it  as  well.  Similes  are 
exhausted  and  sentiment  is  getting  attenuated. 
Yet  Gilbert  has  a  dainty  little  bit  after  all  in 
The  Mountebanks.'  Old  ?  Yes,  old  ;  but  to  me 
very  dainty." 

Whispering  breeze 

Bring  me  my  dear; 
Windshaken  trees 

Beckon  him  here  ; 
Rivulet,  hie, 

Prythee,  go  see ; 
Birds  as  ye  fly 

Call  him  to  me ! 

Tell  him  the  tale  of  the  tears  that  I  shed, 
Tell  him  I  die  for  the  love  that  is  dead. 

"Yes,  that  is  rather  pretty." 
"Ah,  pretty!    That  is  all  we  say.    We  have  to 
169 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Love  Ballads  sing  love  nowadays.  Love  words  do  not  move  us 
now.  Well,  the  words  don't  mean  much  in  the 
usual  love  ballad,  anyway,  now." 

"They  're  rather  sensible,  sometimes." 

"The  old  English  opera  words  had  to  be  con 
cealed.  That's  why  most  operatic  singers  are 
never  heard,  so  far  as  what  they  are  saying  is 
concerned." 

"It  doesn't  matter  at  all,"  put  in  the  Candid 
Man. 

"But  I  don't  like  this  new  style  of  love  ballad 
very  much.  It  is  something  between  heavenly  and 
earthly,  between  poetry  and  prose.  I  wonder 
how  many  of  them  end  in  'I  love  thee !'  Some 
interesting  statistics  might  be  made  out  of  love 
songs.  For  instance,  I  would  like  to  know  the 
proportion  of  Fs,  and  thees,  and  yous,  and  thines, 
and  mines,  and  dears,  and  loves  there  is  to  all 
the  other  words  of  the  language  in  them?  Well, 
it  is  for  the  most  part  nonsense,  anyway,  and 
misleading." 

"Misleading?"   queried  the  Sentimental  Man. 

"Yes,  misleading.  It  has  always  seemed  to  me 
that  love  poetry  has  been  misunderstood." 

"How  ?" 

"There 's  no  such  feeling  possible  in  practical 
life  as  that  which  is  expressed  in  most  love  poetry. 
It 's  all  in  the  imagination,  and  it  is  this  effect  of 
reducing  the  imaginative  to  the  real  that  makes 
all  the  trouble.  What  is  the  use  of  describing  a 
woman's  eyes  as  stars  ?  They  're  not  a  bit  like 
170 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

stars.     Rubies  for  lips  and  pearls  for  teeth?     As    Love  Ballads 

a  fact,  gentlemen,  lips  do  not  suggest  rubies,  and 

teeth  are  more  like  mother  of  pearl,  which  is  too 

cheap  an  article  of  commerce  for  use  in  poetry. 

Love    ballads    consist    principally    in    comparing 

something    with    something   else    for   eight    lines 

and  then  putting  at  the  end  'I  love  thee.'     For 

myself,  gentlemen,  I  am  satisfied  that  my  love's 

eyes  should  not  be  stars  ;  her  neck  should  in  no 

respect  resemble  the  swan's,   which,   indeed,  the 

old  song  to  the  contrary  notwithstanding,  I  take 

to  be  a  very  uncomplimentary  comparison.     I  do 

not  think  bosoms  of  snow  would  be  alluring,  or 

hands  of  ivory  at  all  pleasant  to  squeeze.    In  fact, 

gentlemen,"  and  the  Seedy  Man  took  up  his  glass 

and  waved  it  gracefully  in  the  air,  "I  don't  believe 

that   there   are   any   comparisons    in   nature   that 

could  express  the  charm  of  a  dainty  woman  just 

as  she  is." 

"Then  you  don't  want  love  ballads  at  all." 

"Yes,  I  do.  Yes,  I  think  that  there  are  some 
feelings  words  cannot  express  by  themselves.  But 
the  charm  of  sentiment  is  sense,  and  music  is,  at 
its  best,  emotional  sense." 

"There  doesn't  seem  to  be  much  sense,  as  you 
describe,  in  that  Gilbert  verse,"  said  the  Practical 
Man. 

"You  think  that  the  breeze  couldn't  bring  him 

back,  and  the  trees  couldn't  beckon  to  him,  and 

all  the  rest  of  it.     That  is  simply  a  little  cry  for 

sympathy  and  assistance.     A  longing  half  happy 

171 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Love  Ballads  cry  to  the  infinite  to  do  what  the  finite  cannot. 
We  all  crave  and  need  sympathy,  and  yet " 

The  Seedy  Gentleman  took  on  his  old  tone  of 
reverie. 

"And  yet  we  do  not  ask  it  always,  or  want  it 
always,  from  our  fellow  men.  When  we  are  sad 
I  think  most  of  us  want  to  be  alone  with  nature. 
And  some  inanimate  things  are  full  of  sympathy. 
Yes,  you  light  your  fire,  and  draw  your  curtains 
and  take  your  pipe,  and  sit  by  the  blaze.  Some 
how  the  fire  seems  to  sympathize  with  you.  It 
may  be  the  same  kind  of  blaze  that  goes  up  the 
chimney  when  you  are  sitting  there  placid  and 
pleased,  but  somehow  it  cheers  you,  as  if  it  said : 
"Don't  be  downcast;  see  how  I  leap  and  glow — 
and  all  for  you."  Sometimes  it  is  the  breeze  that 
flits  past  you  as  you  wander  through  the  woods, 
and  whispers  as  it  goes,  "Cheer  up ;  feel  how  fresh 
and  pure  and  balmy  I  am."  Sometimes  it  is  the 
flower  that  looks  up  at  you  and  smiles  and  tries 
to  charm  your  mood  away,  and  sometimes  it  is 
the  sky  and  the  sunset  that  fill  the  air  with  a 
rich  warm  glow,  and  seem  to  draw  you  from 
your  sadness." 

There  was  a  pause.  They  let  him  think,  as  they 
always  did  when  he  fell  into  that  mood,  and 
presently  he  moved,  to  go  away. 

"I  don't  think,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  "that  music 

was  ever  meant  for  words.     I  think  it  should  be, 

even  from  voices,  only  a  sound.    The  violin  needs 

no  words  ;  the  cello  speaks  without  them.    It  is 

172 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

our  education  in  speech  that  makes  them  neces-  Love  Ballads 
sary,  when  men  or  women  give  forth  music.  We 
do  not  hear  them  most  of  the  time,  we  only 
vaguely  follow  them  at  best;  yet  somehow  the 
music  tells  us  just  the  same,  and,  after  all,  it  is 
not  what  you  say,  but  how  you  say  it.  Prose  is 
made  poetry  by  a  tone,  and  poetry  made  prose  by 
a  voice.  Ah  me !  the  same  words  mean  so  many 
different  things.  A  little  inflection  turns  a  com 
pliment  into  an  insult ;  the  same  words  can  be 
charged  with  pleasure  or  with  pain.  The  whisper 
may  be  all  you  hear,  but  you  do  not  need  to  ask 
the  sentence ;  love  is  a  song,  hate  is  a  hiss,  sym 
pathy  is  a  chord,  and  joy  a  trill,  and  words  are — 
nothing,  after  all.  Good  night,  gentlemen !" 


173 


GHOSTS 


ABOUT  GHOSTS 

The  Seedy  Gentleman  came  in  with  a  dripping   Ghosts 
umbrella  in  his  hand,  swathed  in  a  mackintosh, 
and  his  trousers  turned  up  at  the  bottom. 

"I  see  by  the  evening  papers,"  he  said,  as  he 
kicked  off  his  rubbers  and  drew  his  easy  chair 
up  to  the  fire,  "I  see  by  the  evening  papers  that 
the  storm  is  over." 

"Looks  like  it,  doesn't  it?" 

"Now,  if  we  lived  away  back  two  or  three  or 
four  thousand  years,  we  should  be  down  on  our 
marrow  bones  praying  lustily  to  the  gods.  That 
was  a  regular  Jovian  thunderbolt,  wasn't  it? 

"You  are  the  oracle.  The  ancients  used  to  seek 
the  oracle  for  explanations.  What  does  the  or 
acle  say  this  portends?"  said  the  Candid  Man. 

"Well,  if  it  had  been  before  the  election,  I 
should  have  said  it  portended  some  great  politi 
cal  disaster;  but  I  am  inclined  to  think  it  is 
plain  weather." 

"That  is  rather  commonplace,"  put  in  the  Cynic. 

"My  friend,  everything  is  commonplace,  today. 
If  anything  very  extraordinary  turns  up  we  are 
immediately  deluged  with  explanations  that  make 
it  absolutely  uninteresting.  I  like  to  see  the 
ghost  in  'Hamlet'  simply  because  scientific  men 
can't  get  up  and  explain  it  away.  I  haven't  the 
177 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Ghosts    least  doubt  Hamlet  saw  his  father's  ghost." 

"Oh,  people  see  ghosts  now." 

"I  doubt  it.  I  have  seen  some  strange  things 
in  my  time — thank  you,  John  ! — but — well — " 

"You  have  reformed?" 

"Slightly,  gentlemen,  slightly.     Here  's  to  you  !" 

The  old  gentleman  took  a  sip  and,  leaning  back 
in  his  chair,  lapsed  into  silence. 

"Ah,"  he  said,  in  his  dreamy  tone,  "the  ghosts 
of  old  came  from  the  dead.  The  ghosts  today 
come  from  the  living.  The  grave  is  more  silent 
than  it  was ;  the  tomb  more  secret.  The  veil  that 
hides  the  beyond  is  more  impenetrable;  the 
bourne  from  which  no  traveler  returns  grows 
more  and  more  mystic  and  inscrutable.  We  were 
better  when  we  dreamed  of  peace  and  rest  and 
happiness — to  come." 

"You  are  getting  mournful." 

"Let  us  talk  of  Hamlet !  I  have  always  had 
a  profound  pity  for  Hamlet's  ghost,"  said  the 
old  gentleman,  waking  up.  "I  never  see  him  walk 
on  the  stage  and  speak  his  little  description  of 
his  unfortunate  condition  in  the  other  world, 
without  being  sorry  for  him  when  he  has  to 
leave  the  'nipping  and  the  eager  air'  of  Elsinore's 
battlements,  and  go  back  to  tormenting  flames. 
It  seems  to  me,  gentlemen,"  said  the  old  man, 
twirling  his  monocle,  "it  seems  to  me  that  such 
a  good  man  as  Hamlet's  father  is  represented  to 
be  should  have  been  in  a  more  comfortable  place. 
He  himself  alludes  to  deeds  done  in  his  days  of 

178 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

nature;    but,   somehow,   if   I   had  been   Hamlet,   Ghosts 
I    should    have    worried    more    over   the    ghost's 
present  unfortunate  state  than  even  over  his  pe 
culiar  murder." 

"Hamlet  was  busy  debating  how  he  could  re 
venge  him." 

"Precisely ;  but  I  always  think  of  that  poor 
ghost.  If  Hamlet  could  only  do  something  to 
get  him  out  of  there !  If  he  had  only  given  him 
some  cold  victuals  to  eat.  He  ought  to  have  in 
vited  him  to  come  every  night  when  he  was 
walking  around  and  get  his  meals  regularly,  at 
least;  then  he  would  not  have  needed  to  fast, 
even  if  he  had  to  spend  the  day  in  fires.  He 
might  have  given  him  a  cake  of  ice  to  take  back 
with  him." 

"I  do  not  recall  that  that  phase  of  the  question 
has  been  debated  before,"  remarked  the  Fellow  in 
the  Corner. 

"I  suppose  it  has,"  answered  the  old  gentleman. 
"All  phases  of  all  questions  have  been  argued 
before.  But  the  whole  ghost  theory  has  been 
crystallized  in  'Hamlet.' " 

"Do  you  really  believe  in  ghosts,  anyway?" 
asked  the  Candid  Man. 

"I  think  all  people  have  some  belief  in  ghosts," 
the  Old  Man  said  thoughtfully.  "Those  who  do 
not  really  believe,  have  a  vague  underlying  fear 
that  there  may  be  such  things,  after  all.  Why 
not  ghosts?  Human  nature  is  at  bottom  so  prac 
tical  that  it  demands  ocular  demonstration  of 
179 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Ghosts  everything.  When  we  fancy  a  thing  may  be  in 
this  life,  we  go  hunting  for  it,  and,  nine  times 
out  of  ten,  when  we  go  hunting  for  a  thing  we 
find  it,  even  if  it  isn't  there." 

"Something  of  a  paradox,"  remarked  the  Fel 
low  in  the  Corner. 

"Everything  is  a  paradox.  Life  itself  is  noth 
ing  else  to  us.  Since  men  were,  they  have  craved 
the  uncanny,  the  intangible,  the  supernatural. 
Ghosts  have  come  from  that  craving.  Nature  has 
a  way  of  supplying,  somehow  or  other,  what  you 
think  you  need.  Nature  is  kind;  if  it  can't  give 
you  the  real  thing,  because,  very  likely,  it  is  im 
possible,  it  makes  you  imagine  you  have  it ;  and 
that  is  just  as  good — better,  sometimes.  Ghosts, 
gentlemen,  were  sent  into  the  imagination  to 
gratify  a  long-felt  want.  Ah,  me!  We  cry  for  a 
sign  from  beyond  the  grave ;  we  cry  for  some 
evidence  that  our  beloved  dead  are  not  eternally 
lost  to  us;  and  it  would  be  a  great  comfort  if 
they  could  come  back  in  any  shape  and  talk  to 
us." 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  the  Candid 
Man.  "There  might  be  some  ghosts  we  wouldn't 
enjoy  talking  with." 

"Possibly;  and  I  can  see  a  great  objection, 
unless  one  could  select  his  visitors,"  went  on  the 
Old  Fellow.  "It  is  strange  that  people  generally 
associate  ghosts  with  coming  calamity.  They  are 
evil  omens  to  most  of  us.  I  fancy  that  is  be 
cause  we  cannot  imagine  their  coming  back  to 
180 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

this  world,  unless  they  are  in  a  worse,  and  there's  Ghosts 
something  wrong.  They  seem  to  be  a  kind  of 
warning  from  the  Fates.  Ah,  what  a  strange, 
potent  fear  this  dread  of  the  unknown  is !  We 
never  expect  any  message  of  coming  happiness 
from  ghosts.  The  records  give  very  few  such 
cases.  Yet,  were  there  really  such  things, 
and  were  our  friends  beyond  the  dark  able  to 
minister  to  us  in  any  way,  there  is  no  human 
being  so  out  of  the  pale,  that  some  departed  soul 
would  not  return  to  bring  him  comfort,  if  it 
might.  The  most  convincing  argument  against 
ghosts  is  that,  according  to  all  the  legends,  they 
have  returned  to  preach  to  us  about  our  sins  and 
wickedness,  and  give  us  good  advice.  If  I  might 
say  it  without  irreverence,  gentlemen,  it  looks  as 
if  ghosts  were  actuated  by  the  same  old  human 
weakness  of  liking  to  interfere  with  other  peo 
ple's  business,  and  always  wanting  to  give  their 
friends  good  advice." 

"Well,"  said  the  Fellow  in  the  Corner,  "what 
I  object  to,  is  that  they  never  tell  us  anything 
that  could  help  us  to  prepare  really  for  another 
world." 

"You  wouldn't  believe  them  if  they  did,"  put 
in  the  Candid  Man. 

"We  only  believe  what  we  want  to,  unless  it 
is  banged  into  us  practically,"  added  the  Cynic. 

"I    don't    know,"    said    the    Seedy    Gentleman, 
thoughtfully.  "Don't  we  half  believe  those  omens 
and  warnings?     Isn't  there  something  in  the  in- 
181 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Ghosts  scrutable  that  gives  us  pause,  because  we  feel 
there  may  be  something  terrible  behind  it? 
Do  what  we  will,  we  cannot  get  away,  we  can 
not  get  entirely  rid  of  the  conviction  that  the 
unseen  power  we  call  Fate,  may  sometimes  speak 
to  us  with  meaning,  and  we  feel  that  if  it  did, 
it  would  choose  some  unfamiliar  vehicle.  The 
old  oracles  of  Greece  have  gone ;  but  have  we 
not  oracles  today  even  in  the  civilized  West? 
Don't  we  flip  a  half-dollar  and  read  fate  in  head 
or  tail?  We  call  it  chance!  Ah,  how  much  alike 
are  Fate  and  Chance !  Joan  of  Arc  has  not  been 
the  only  one  led  to  a  great  destiny  by  mysterious 
voices.  Do  we  not  all  hear  them,  sometime  or 
another?  Do  we  not  all  see  visions  that  change 
our  plans,  start  us  on  great  enterprises,  tempt 
us  into  courses  that  may  end  in  happiness  or  in 
wreck?  They  do  not  stalk  before  us  as  ghosts 
do;  they  do  not  come  in  weird,  supernatural 
light,  or  with  the  white  flowing  drapery  that 
spirits  are  supposed  to  wear  in  the  other  world. 
But  visions  they  are,  just  the  same;  and  they 
seem  to  bear  messages  that  we  fear  to  deny." 

"I  never  saw  any,"  said  the  Practical  Man. 

"Are  you  sure?"  asked  the  Seedy  Gentleman, 
turning  on  him.  "You  practical  chaps  think 
everything  you  do  is  the  inspiration,  conception, 
and  execution  of  your  own  gigantic  brains.  You 
think  you  could  get  on  without  a  world  at  all, 
if  it  were  necessary.  That  is  a  hallucination  as 
bad  as  any.  You  never  realize  the  innumerable 
182 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

subtle    influences    that   are    forever    working   on   Ghosts 
you.     You  see  visions  and  hear  voices  as  much 
as  other  people;    only  you  believe  they  originate 
in  yourselves,  and  are  all  your  own  creation." 

"The  trouble  with  you,  Old  Man,"  answered  the 
Practical  Man,  "is  that  you  have  too  much  imag 
ination." 

"I  wonder  if  I  have  as  much  as  you.  Imagi 
nation  can  act  on  a  stock  deal  or  a  speculation  in 
wheat  a  great  deal  more  dangerously  than  on  a 
ghost.  For  me,  imagination  only  beautifies  what 
has  no  beauty  at  all  for  you." 

The  Seedy  Gentleman  threw  his  cigar  into  the 
fire.  It  had  gone  out  while  he  talked. 

"Well,  Hamlet's  ghost  is  intelligible,  after  all, 
on  certain  accepted  fictions.  He  carries  human 
nature  beyond  the  grave,  and  cannot  rest  till  he 
is  revenged.  It  is  a  way  our  ghosts  have.  We 
expect  ghosts  to  come  back  and  have  it  out  with 
us.  Yes,  we  do  not  credit  that  life  beyond  with 
forgetfulness  of  wrongs,  with  forgetfulness  of 
love,  with  forgetfulness  of  anything  we  find  in 
this  life.  Our  enemy  never  really  dies  ;  those  we 
love  live  forever.  Still  is  there  such  a  thing  as 
a  ghost — only  it  does  not  come  to  us  now  from 
the  grave.  It  is  memory,  it  is  conscience,  it  is 
loyalty,  it  is  truth.  Those  are  the  ghosts  and 
they  live  with  us." 

"You  '11  make  us  see  ghosts  tonight." 

"I  like  ghosts.  Life  is  full  of  them — life  is 
full  of  them.  They  are  not  all  unwelcome." 

183 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Ghosts  Again  the  old  man  fell  into  his  thinking  mood, 
and  when  he  spoke  he  was  under  the  sentimental 
spell  that  sometimes  fell  on  him. 

"Ghost  of  every  happy  hour  that  has  gone ; 
ghost  of  the  first  love,  ghost  of  the  last  love; 
ghost  of  the  misery  that  has  passed  away;  ghost 
of  the  ambition  that  came  to  naught  and  ghost 
of  that  which  was  fulfilled;  ghost  of  the  van 
ished  dream;  ghost  of  the  pleasant  fancy;  ghost 
of  the  dead  wish  and  of  the  faded  hope ; 
ghost  of  the  friendly  kindness ;  ghost  of  the  un- 
forgotten  wrong;  ghost  of  every  yesterday  that 
was  and  every  day  that  passes ;  every  moment 
of  our  fives,  every  wish,  hope,  thought,  dream 
and  act  of  ours  passing  into  a  ghost!" 

The  old  gentleman  spoke  this  in  a  low,  slow 
tone,  and,  when  he  ended,  he  lay  back  in  his 
chair  looking  into  the  fire.  So  they  left  him. 


184 


THE  HUMAN  ORCHESTRA 


ABOUT   THE   HUMAN   ORCHESTRA 

"I    don't    think,"    said    the    Seedy    Gentleman,    The  Human 
meditatively,    "I    don't    really    think    any    grown    Orchestra 
man  ever  wants  to  be  a  child  again." 

"Who  said  he  did?"  asked  the  Practical  Man. 

"An  old  song  says  it,"  and  the  old  fellow  be 
gan  to  sing  "Make  me  a  child  again  just  for 
tonight." 

"For  heaven's  sake,  don't  sing  it,"  said  the 
Cynic. 

"You  are  harsh,  gentlemen.  In  these  somewhat 
ragged  tones  do  you  not  recognize  something  of 
the  fine  tenor  of  my  youth?"  said  the  old  man, 
with  just  the  suspicion  of  a  hiccough. 

"Are  you  sentimental  this  evening?"  inquired 
the  Fellow  in  the  Corner  sympathetically. 

"I  have  a  soul — sometimes.  It  would  sing  if 
it  could — but — ah — well — the  music  of  our  life 
grows  mute  when  the  instrument  begins  to  wear 
out.  Although — gentlemen — although — they  have 
fiddles  several  hundred  years  old,  and  they  are 
infinitely  better  than  the  new  ones." 

"Are  you  a  fiddle?"  queried  the  Cynic. 

"You  scoff.  Some  of  us  are  fiddles,  some  of 
us  are  flutes,  some  of  us  are  mandolins,  some  of 
us  are  trombones,  and  some  of  us  are  mere  xylo 
phones,  and  fate  plays  on  us  what  tunes  it  will." 

187 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

The  Human  "Most  of  us  are  penny  whistles,  I  fancy," 
Orchestra  said  the  Candid  Man. 

"Do  not  jeer  at  the  penny  whistle,"  said  the 
old  man  solemnly,  getting  up  and  sitting  down 
again  suddenly. 

"You'd  better  keep  sitting  down,  Old  Man," 
remarked  the  Fellow  in  the  Corner. 

"I  think  so,"  he  said  cheerily.  "I  really  think 
so.  But,  about  the  penny  whistle, — do  you  know 
the  penny  whistle  is  an  infinitely  cheerful  and 
inspiring  thing?  The  penny  whistle  will  not  be 
sad.  If  you  play  a  dirge  on  it  it  will  take  on  a 
brightness  and  vivacity,  full  of  hope  and  prom 
ise." 

"What  kind  of  an  instrument  are  you  ?"  asked 
the  Practical  Chap. 

"I  feel  like  a  bassoon." 

"I  should  think  you  were  more  like  an  oboe." 

"Well,  perhaps  I  am.  The  oboe  can  never  be 
really  cheerful,  and  when  it  tries  to  be  it  belies 
itself  and  appears  to  be  simply  putting  on  an  un 
natural  mirth.  Yes,  a  sentimental  old  man  is  the 
oboe  of  the  human  orchestra." 

"And  how  about  the  women?"  came  from  the 
Cynic. 

"Men,  gentlemen,"  said  the  Old  Fellow,  "men 
are  the  wind  instruments — and  women  are  the 
strings." 

"Yet  women  do  most  talking." 

"Men  do  all  the  blowing.  Yes,  we  are  all 
musical  instruments.  The  orchestra  is,  perhaps, 
188 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

overloaded  in  the  brass  department,  but  the  soul    The  Human 
of   music   comes   from   the   strings,   even   if   the   Orchestra 
blatant  clang  of  cymbals  and  bray  of  trumpets 
and  trombones  do  drown  it  sometimes." 

"He  's  off  again,"  said  the  Candid  Man. 

"I  like  to  speculate  on  those  symbolical  things," 
said  the  Old  Man,  vainly  trying  to  light  a  match. 
"Do  you  not  hear  the  harp  in  the  air  sometimes 
when  you  meet  a  charming  woman  with  a  musical 
voice  and  a  soulful  eye?" 

"A  what?" 

"I  said  a  soulful  eye,  gentlemen.  You  may  have 
no  poetry  in  you,  but  there  is  poetry  in  some  peo 
ple.  You  don't  admit  there  is  a  soulful  eye, 
but  that  girl  you  were  looking  at  so  fondly  last 
night " 

"Don't  give  us  away !" 

"I  said  last  night.  She  had  a  soulful  eye  and 
you  thought  so,  too.  But  never  mind — John, 
bring  in  another !  I  was  saying,  gentlemen,  I 
was  saying  that  women  are  the  string  instruments 
of  the  human  band,  and  fate  plays  upon  them  for 
us  sonatas  and  reveries  and  fantasies  and  pot 
pourris.  Sometimes  it  is  a  violin  playing  a  mer 
ry  jig,  and  we  dance.  Ye  gods,  how  we  dance ! 
Sometimes  it  is  a  cello,  a  woman  deep  of  heart 
and  strong  of  soul,  full  of  passion  and  of  feel 
ing.  Sometimes  it  is  a  bass  fiddle — but  let  that 
pass.  There  are  bass  fiddles  in  our  orchestra — 
old  maids  with  deep  tones,  fads  for  the  regener 
ation  of  the  human  race  in  general  and  men  in 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

particular.     How  clever  was  that  Lady  Jane  in 
'Patience' !" 

The  old  gentleman  began  to  sing  "There  will 
be  too  much  of  me  in  the  coming  by  and  by." 
They  stopped  him  again. 

"But,  gentlemen,  the  world  is  full  of  mandolins 
and  bandurrias  and  guitars — young  girls  whose 
hearts  are  full  of  sentiment  and  merry  spirit, 
which  have  no  depth  but  are  inexpressibly  pleas 
ing.  Still  others  are  mere  banjos — plunk,  plunk, 
plunkety  plunk — et  preterea  nihil." 

"Say  it  again !" 

"Excuse  me,  friends.  If  you  did  not  catch  it 
it  is  of  no  consequence.  Yes,"  went  on  the  old 
man,  after  a  little  pause,  "it  is  a  sign  of  the  times 
that  they  are  writing  solos  for  the  trombone. 
There  are  an  awful  lot  of  trombones  among 
men.  They  can  go  very  low,  and  make  a  great 
deal  of  noise,  but  music  is  not  in  them.  I  am 
inclined  to  think  that  most  men  are  mere  drums ; 
fate  beats  them  and  they  make  a  noise;  only  ef 
fective  in  combination  with  other  instruments,  and 
then  as  seldom  heard  as  possible.  There  is  a  fair 
proportion  of  cornets,  and  any  quantity  of  trum 
pets,  but  the  wood-wind  instruments  are  not 
plentiful,  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  you  can  only  hear 
them  occasionally.  Once  in  a  while  there  comes 
a  little  strain  of  flute  or  oboe  when  a  poet  sings. 
Jewsharps?  Yes,  jewsharps  are  very  common. 
Youth  is  the  jewsharp,  and  some  old  people  nev 
er  get  over  the  vibration  of  the  tongue." 
190 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

"Ahem !"  The  Human 

"Yes,   you  are  quite   right,   gentlemen.     I   see   Orchestra 
your  point,  but  will  you   excuse  me  if  I   don't 
care  a  fig?    Then  there  are  accordions  and  con 
certinas.    They  are  both  male  and  female.    There 
are  many  women  concertinas  and  accordions." 

"And  which  instrument  do  you  prefer  in  the  or 
chestra  of  men  and  women?" 

"Well,  I  don't  know.  It  depends  on  my  cond — 
I  mean  mood.  You  know  there  are  times  when 
you  want  to  fly,  and  times  when  you  want  to 
take  a  car.  Sometimes  I  long  for  the  music  of 
the  spheres  and  sometimes  I  prefer  the  bagpipes. 
I  don't  know.  Sometimes  I  feel  like  listening 
to  an  orchestra  and  sometimes  I  want  to  join  in 
a  simple  duet.  I  think  the  duet  is  the  most  en 
joyable — if  it  is  not  always  the  same  player  that 
is  with  you.  There  are  few  pleasures  in  life, 
gentlemen,  that  stand  an  encore." 

"Except  this,"  said  one,  raising  his  glass. 

"Present  company  always  excepted,"  said  the 
old  man,  sweetly.  "This  is  an  exception  to  all 
rules." 

"But  you  have  not  mentioned  the  piano." 

"The  piano — well,  I  can't  place  the  piano.  It 
is  neither  male  nor  female.  If  it  were  not  for  the 
piano  we  wouldn't  have  as  much  bad  music. 
It  deceives  all  the  people  who  learn  it  into  be 
lieving  they  are  musicians.  I  don't  think  a  human 
piano  would  be  enjoyable.  Nothing  that  you  have 
to  thump  is  any  good.  You  can't  get  the  soul 
191 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

The  Human  out  of  anything  by  thumping" — and  he  shook  his 
Orchestra  head  gravely. 

"No,"  he  went  on  after  a  little,  "I  prefer  the 
other  strings.  One  never  gets  too  old  to  feel  their 
music.  The  brass  grows  tiresome;  the  wood 
wind  instruments  may  fit  some  of  our  varying 
moods;  but  the  strings  are  youth  and  life  and 
sentiment  and  passion  and  love  for  all  our 
lives.  They  can  be  merry  or  they  can  be  sad ; 
they  can  bring  up  the  past,  the  present  or  the 
future.  The  golden  harps  that  play  in  the  man 
sions  in  the  skies  are  more  than  anything  what 
gives  us  a  charming  idea  of  heaven.  And  when 
I  think  of  the  music  of  the  spheres,  I  do  not 
think  of  braying  brass  or  even  of  sweet-toned 
flutes  or  oboes.  I  think  of  pizzicato  movements 
on  the  strings,  and  I  am  happy." 

The  old  gentleman  betrayed  a  tendency  to  fall 
asleep  and  they  didn't  disturb  him,  but  present 
ly  he  shook  himself  together  with  an  effort  and 
got  up. 

"Good  night,  gentlemen !  This  conversation  has 
made  me  sad,"  he  said  in  a  somewhat  uncertain 
voice.  "It  makes  me  feel  that  my  life  has  been 
wasted.  A  wind  instrument  is  of  very  little  sat 
isfaction  by  itself.  Somehow  I  wish  I  had  mar 
ried  a  violin.  Life  might  have  been  a  perfect 
duet.  Still,  you  can't  tell.  I  might  have  fallen 
from  the  dignity  of  a  solo  instrument  into  a  mere 
obligate.  Good  night !" 


192 


A   VISITOR   FROM   THE   SHADES 


A    VISITOR   FROM    THE    SHADES 

The  Seedy  Gentleman  was  heard  outside  taking  A  Visitor 
leave  of  somebody. 

"Good  night,  old  man !  A  safe  trip  back,"  he 
said,  and  presently  he  walked  in  rather  wearily. 

"Why  didn't  you  bring  your  friend  in?"  asked 
somebody. 

"Couldn't.  He  couldn't  wait.  He  was  due 
in  the  shades  at  midnight,  and  had  to  go." 

"Who  was  it?" 

"Thackeray.  A  genial  soul  he  is.  We  Ve  been 
walking  around  the  theatres.  The  other  night — 
you  know  I  am  a  Mahatma  and  I  frequently  step 
over  the  river — he  said  he'd  like  to  take  a  look 
at  the  old  place.  I'm  sorry  he  came  tonight." 

"Why?" 

"He  went  back  to  the  shades  in  the  blues." 

"What  about?" 

"Said  he  was  glad  he  was  dead  and  sorry  he 
had  lived." 

"Sorry  he  had  lived?" 

"Yes,  he  said  the  world  hadn't  turned  out  as 
he  expected." 

"What  did  he  expect?" 

"Like  all  those  old  chaps,  improvement.  They 
had  heard  so  much  about  the  new  world,  its  mar 
velous  wealth,  its  tremendous  literary  and  artistic 

195 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

A  Visitor  superiority,  its  freedom,  its  protection,  its  uni 
versal  comfort,  its — everything  high,  holy  and  no 
ble,  that  they  supposed  it  must  be  a  kind  of  Gar 
den  of  Eden  on  a  national  scale." 

"Well,  their  disappointment  is  natural,  I  sup 
pose." 

"Yes,  he  thought  life  was  all  music  and  flow 
ers  now." 

"The  theatres  will  show  us  the  condition  of 
society,"  he  said. 

I  didn't  answer.  I  took  him  to  the  theatres. 
As  we  went  along  he  talked  quite  sentimentally. 

"Ah,  the  theatre !"  he  said.  "How  well  I  re 
member  it !  The  lights  and  the  musty  smell  of 
art,  the  noisy  pit,  the  elegance,  the  snobbery  of 
the  stalls,  the  wild  delight  and  excitement  of 
the  scene  on  the  stage !  Yes,  it  was  bright  and 
gay  at  the  ballet  of  years  ago.  How  beautiful 
it  must  be  now !  How  bright  the  comedy  must 
be  when  education  has  sharpened  the  wit  of  all 
classes,  and  comfort  and  prosperity  and  freedom 
have  made  them  happy.  Your  age  must  be  a  joy 
ous  one,  my  friend,  and  your  stage  pictures  of  it 
must  be  far  beyond  the  dreams  we  primitive  peo 
ple  had." 

I  said  nothing.  I  took  him  to  the  theatres. 
We  walked  into  the  first  one  we  came  to.  We 
passed  the  little  wicket  and  through  the  swing 
ing  doors.  The  curtains  were  drawn  and  all 
was  dark. 

196 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

"I  am  so  sorry,"  Thackeray  said;    "there  seems    A  Visitor 
to  be  no  performance  here." 

"Oh,  yes,  there  is;    pass  in!" 

We  drew  the  curtain.  The  house  was  hushed 
as  the  grave;  the  lights  were  out  all  over  the 
auditorium,  and  only  an  electric  jet  from  the 
wings  lit  the  stage.  It  shone  just  upon  a  ghastly 
face  and  a  vague,  distorted  figure  that  moved 
shiftingly  across  the  scene. 

"What  is  this?"  asked  Thackeray,  with  a  kind 
of  creepiness  in  his  voice. 

"That  is  a  play." 

"Oh,  I  see — the  bogey  drama,  I  suppose." 

"No;  it  is  a  play,  a  character.  You  shall  see 
anon  how  he  transforms  himself  into  a  philan 
thropist,  and  yet  anon  how  he  becomes  again  a 
fiend,  a  demon." 

"And  whose  story  is  this?" 

"A  gentleman  named  Stevenson  conceived  it;  a 
writer  much  admired  and  highly  respected,  whose 
ideas  command  high  prices  in  the  literary  fair." 

"And  this  gentleman  who  acts  the  part?" 

"The  most  original  and  the  cleverest  of  our 
modern  actors." 

"It  is  wonderful,"  said  Thackeray;  "it  moves 
me ;  it  makes  me  creepy — but  tell  me,  have  you 
really  such  men  as  Dr.  Jekyll  and  Mr.  Hyde? 
Has  modern  science  plunged  so  deep  into  the  mys 
teries  of  nature  that  a  man  can  transform  him 
self  like  this?" 

"No ;    a  fancy.    We  create  such  ideas." 
197 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

A  Visitor       "Such  horrible  fancies!     Why?" 

"My  dear  Mr.  Thackeray,  we  are  so  unbearably 
happy  nowadays  that  we  need  to  invent  horrors 
to  dampen  our  spirits." 

"I  could  believe  it  real,  but  let  us  go ;  let  us  see 
the  age  and  body  of  the  time.  We  used  to  in 
vent  weird  ghost  stories  to  frighten  the  child 
ren.  You  invent  them  to  frighten  grown-up  peo 
ple." 

"No,"  I  said,  "to  thrill  them." 

"But  this — this  reminds  me  of  my  esteemed 
rival  Dickens'  Gruff  and  Tackleton,  who  de 
lighted  in  making  most  hideous  toys." 

We  walked  round  the  corner.  I  took  him  into 
an  elegant  barroom. 

"What  is  this?"  he  asked.  "Bless  me!  An 
art  gallery.  Ah  !  here  is  advancement.  Here  you 
let  the  people  see  the  pictures  of  your  great  ar 
tists,  and — what  is  this?" 

"A  free  lunch." 

"And  free  eating  for  all?" 

"Yes.    Help  yourself !" 

"The  world  has  developed  indeed.  What  a 
sensible,  what  a  liberal  idea !" 

"Now  we  will  drink,"  I  said. 

I  ordered  the  drinks.  Thackeray  drank  heart 
ily. 

"The  age  of  universal  reason  has  come,"  he 
said  enthusiastically. 

"A  quarter,  please,"  said  the  barkeeper. 

"This,"  said  I,  "is  different.     This  is  where  we 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

pay — this  is  where  the  universal  profit  comes  in."   A  Visitor 

Thackeray  seemed  kind  of  disappointed. 

"It  is  purely  a  commercial  proposition,  I  see, 
and  now  I  come  to  look  at  the  pictures — well, 
let  us  go!" 

We  went  up  to  another  theatre. 

"Here,  perhaps,  we  shall  find  the  age  and  body 
of  the  time.  Here  a  pleasant  comedy  or  a  pretty 
love  story  or " 

As  we  went  in  a  rough  villain,  muttering  in 
a  coarse  voice,  was  seizing  a  young  girl,  while 
another  man  was  rushing  on  to  save  her  from  the 
brute. 

"How  pitiful !"  said  Thackeray.  "No,  is  life 
with  you  so  hard  as  that?  Are  all  your  laws, 
all  the  results  of  hundreds  of  years'  experience, 
all  the  latitude  and  resources  of  this  great  land, 
worth  no  more  to  you,  the  heirs  of  all  the  ages, 
in  the  foremost  files  of  time?" 

"We  have  invented  this,  too." 

"Oh,  another  fancy.  I  thought  the  theatre  was 
to  entertain  people,  to  lighten  their  hearts.  This 
makes  me  sad.  No,  enough !  Show  me  some 
other  picture !" 

The  next  theatre  was  gay  with  lights.  We 
strolled  in  there.  A  burst  of  orchestra  came  in 
our  faces  as  we  opened  the  door.  The  stage  was 
full  of  bright  figures. 

"At  last — music !"  said  Thackeray.  "Music  is 
always  bright  and " 

A  woman  came  on  wringing  her  hands,  wild 
199 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

A  Visitor    with  agony,  and  sang  Santuzza's  scene  in  "Cav- 
alleria  Rusticana."    It  was  moving,  but  somber. 

"She  has  been  betrayed,"  I  said.  "She  tells  the 
husband  of  her  rival.  He  kills  the  betrayer  of 
both." 

"Still  mournful,  still  sad.  Has  life  no  joy  at 
all  that  even  music  may  deal  with?  Does  the 
modern  generation  live  in  moan  and  misery?  Has 
the  age  and  body  of  the  time  no  other  form  and 
pressure  than  this  evidently  grim  despair,  this 
wail  of  pain  and  suffering?" 
"You  shall  see." 

When  we  had  seen  a  little  of  the  opera  we  wan 
dered  round  to  still  another  theatre. 

"What's  the  matter  with  him?"  asked  Thack 
eray,  pointing  to  the  hero. 

"He  has  been  accused  and  condemned  by  the 
machinations  of  villains.  He  is  the  victim  of 
vindictive  criminals.  He  is  now  engaged  in  hunt 
ing  for  the  man  who  has  brought  all  his  trouble 

on  him,  and " 

"The  old,  old  story.  The  wild  novel  we  used 
to  sneer  at." 

"Today  the  story  that  brings  fame  and  for 
tune." 

"What !  Is  it  any  more  real  now  ?  Have  you 
discovered  that  the  rubbish  of  my  time  was  high 
art?" 

"No.     The  kind  of  people  who  gave  you  fame 
are  not  the  kind  of  people  who  give  fame  now. 
We  have   invented  a  new  kind  of  fame,  which 
200 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

grows  up,  like  a  mushroom,  in  a  night,  and 
withers  almost  as  quickly.  Education  has  made 
everybody  read,  and  the  majority  rules.  Ah,  yes ! 
You  have  more  admirers  than  you  had  when  you 
lived;  a  greater  fame  and  growing  all  the  time. 
But  the  dime  novel,  in  a  more  elegant  form,  sells 
a  hundred  to  one  against  you." 
"And  this  poor  chap.  Just  out  of  jail,  is  he?" 
"Yes.  Virtue  has  to  be  persecuted  to  be  rec 
ognized." 

"Can  I  see  one  thing  to  smile  over  before  I 
go?" 

"There  's  one  last  chance." 
"Let  us  take  it,"  said  Thackeray. 
We  meandered  down  the  street  and  found  an 
other  Thespian  temple.     There  was  a  crowd  of 
wild  border  ruffians,  an  Indian  maiden,  a  couple 
of  horses  and  sundry  other  articles  of  stage  na 
ture  on  exhibition,  and  the  smoke  of   revolvers 
obscured  the  scene. 

"And  this?"  asked  Thackeray. 
"You  may  recognize  it,"  I  said.     "Listen  care 
fully!" 

A  smile  broke  over  his  face. 
"Ah,"  he  said.  "I  see.  My  burlesque  novels 
were  something  in  this  vein.  You  wag !"  and  he 
poked  me  in  the  ribs.  "You  have  been  fooling 
me.  Those  plays  we  have  seen  were  all  carica 
tures,  were  they  not?" 

"Hush,    for    heaven's    sake,"    I    said    hastily. 
"The  actors  don't  know  it." 
201 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

A  Visitor       "No,  they  did  not  laugh,  I  remember." 

"Tell  me,  friend,  is  this  the  age  and  body  of 
your  time  I  have  seen  tonight?" 

"No,  only  the  deformities.  There  is  as  much 
beauty  in  life  as  ever,  only  it  needs  the  genius 
to  embellish  it,  and  anybody  can  distort  it.  The 
stage  is  now  a  kind  of  moral  dissecting  table. 
The  clinics  are  held  before  large  audiences  ;  the 
work  is  sometimes  brutal,  sometimes  brilliantly 
skilful,  but  we  are  supposed  to  believe  that  the 
publicity  of  the  operations  scares  the  diseases 
away  and  rids  humanity  of  them." 

"Or  rather,  friend,"  said  Thackeray,  "the 
drama  is  a  kind  of  vaccination  for  vice  and 
crime.  Inoculation  is  taken  to  prevent  immor 
ality  from  catching.  It  is  sadly  wrong.  We  who 
went  before  you  called  the  world  miserable  and 
wicked  because  of  poverty,  ignorance,  oppress 
ion.  We  said  'Wait  till  the  light  of  freedom  in 
its  fullest  sense  dawns  and  education  and  com 
fort  spread  like  sunshine  over  the  earth.'  And 
here,  in  this  great,  free  republic,  where  all  the 
ideal  conditions  are  supposed  to  have  been 
found,  life  is  no  happier  than  it  used  to  be.  Mil 
lennium  !  Never,  friend,  never,  if  not  beginning 
here  and  now.  Ah,  at  last  I  see  that  education, 
freedom,  light,  have  little  to  do  with  happiness. 
Human  nature  will  be  human  nature,  as  it  is 
now,  as  it  was  in  the  beginning,  when,  under 
the  very  eye  of  Jehovah,  Cain  killed  his  brother 
Abel.  But  still,  the  good  will  live  as  the  ill.  As 
202 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

long  as  our  poor  human  kind  may  last,  suffering   A  Visitor 
will  beget  sympathy,  misfortune  will  find  friend 
ship  ;    there    will    be    gentle    and    gracious    men, 
and   tender  and   trusting   women,   and   love   will 
find  a  lodgment  in  all  hearts,  good  or  evil." 


203 


THE    MODE 


ABOUT    THE   MODE 

As  the  Seedy  Gentleman  came  into  the  room  The  Mode 
they  saw  he  was  dressed  in  his  old  blue  tailcoat, 
with  strapped  trousers  and  gaiters  over  his 
shabby  boots.  He  raised  his  hat  straight  off  his 
head,  and,  after  he  had  hung  it  on  the  peg,  he 
put  up  his  eyeglass  and  surveyed  the  seat  of  the 
chair  before  he  sat  down.  He  then  produced  a 
snuff  box  and  elaborately  applied  the  snuff  to 
his  nose  after  the  manner  of  Beau  Brummel. 

"Hullo !" 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "I  am  pleased  to  see 
you." 

"Thank  you!     What's  this?" 

"The  fashion  of  gentlemen  of  a  bygone  age." 

"Been  to  see  Mansfield,  I  suppose  ?" 

"Yes." 

"You  're  not  so  old  as  his  time." 

"Hardly;  but  when  a  man  belongs  to  the  past 
what  does  it  matter  what  past  he  belongs  to  ? 
Beau  Brummel  is  not  so  much  nearer  after  all 
now  than  any  other  historical  character.  It  is 
like  the  landscape,  gentlemen,  when  distance  anni 
hilates  the  distance  beyond  it  and  brings  far  sun 
dered  objects  all  together." 

"Has  it  made  you  sad  ?" 

"No!" 

207 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

The  Mode       The  Seedy  Man  put  up  his  eyeglass  and  looked 
into  the  tumbler  of  hot  Scotch. 

"Let  us  drink  to  style !"   he  said. 

"To  anything  you  like." 

"We  have  no  style  about  us  nowadays.  It  is 
an  age  without  manners,  graceless  and  unbeauti- 
ful." 

And  the  Seedy  Man  sighed  a  deep  sigh. 

"What's  the  matter  with  our  style?  Haven't 
we  got  dudes  now  ?" 

"Dudes  ?    Yes." 

"Well,  that  was  all  Beau  Brummel  was." 

"Oh,  no,  he  was  not  a  dude;  he  was  a  mode." 

"A  mode  ?    What  is  a  mode  ?" 

"The  feathers  on  the  Indian;  the  paint  on  the 
savage ;  the  frescoing  on  society ;  the  sugar  on  the 
pill.  Yes,  it  was  all  affectation,  this  elaborate  po 
liteness.  People  said  a  very  great  deal  they 
didn't  mean  in  those  days  of  grace  and  gallantry. 
But  the  old  age  had  its  merits.  Money  was  a 
means  then;  it  is  an  object  now.  People  did  not 
live  to  make  money  then;  they  made  money  to 
enjoy  life.  Ah,  me !  We  're  a  queer  race.  We 
abuse  old  Adam  for  bringing  down  that  curse 
upon  us  that  by  the  sweat  of  our  brow  we  must 
earn  our  daily  bread,  and  yet  we  despise  the  fel 
low,  who  having  sweated  for  years  and  secured 
enough,  beats  the  curse  and  enjoys  himself  with 
out  work." 

"But  that  old  Beau  didn't  pay  his  debts." 
208 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

"My  dear  friend,  he  lived  in  the  wrong  place,  The  Mode 
in  the  wrong  age.  If  he  had  been  the  beau  of  to 
day  in  America  the  tailors  would  have  only  been 
too  glad  to  have  given  him  all  his  clothes  and 
snuffboxes  and  snuff  for  nothing  and  used  him 
as  an  advertisement.  They  were  shameful,  in 
those  old  days.  They  knew  his  value  as  an  ad 
vertisement  enough  to  let  him  run  into  debt ;  and 
when  that  value  was  gone  they  demanded  their 
money.  Ah,  well !  We  advance  all  the  time.  We 
don't  bow  and  scrape  and  use  ornate,  flowery 
compliment  any  more.  We  nod  and  grin 
and  are  free  and  easy;  we  lie  just  the  same, 
only  in  plain  everyday  language,  with  a  good  deal 
of  slang,  and  sometimes  with  vulgar  expression. 
We  don't  polish  up  much,  not  even  our  oaths. 
We  like  to  be  emphatic.  Yes,  we  take  off  our 
hats  to  ladies ;  there  is  still  a  lingering  chivalry 
about  us  that  makes  us  tone  our  stronger  lan 
guage  down  before  them;  but " 

"Well,  pitch  in — go  ahead !" 

"I  like  the  old  way  best,  even  if  it  was  hollow 
and  meaningless  and  affected — the  old  way  that 
had  grace  of  demeanor,  grace  of  language,  grace 
of  sentiment.  Ah,  gentlemen" — and  the  Seedy 
Gentleman  took  a  pinch  of  snuff — "the  lexicon  of 
the  future  will  be  a  slang  dictionary,  and  when 
the  student  of  the  language  seeks  the  derivative, 
he  will  find  it  in  the  variety  gagger,  the  hoodlum, 
the  nigger  minstrel  and  the  farce  comedian." 
209 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

"Well,  it  will  be  expressive." 

"Yes,  it  will  be  expressive  and  emphatic.  I 
wonder  if  things  will  turn  round  then,  and  some 
fishwoman  of  the  future  will  make  some  Douglas 
Jerrold  to  come,  very  angry  by  calling  him  an  in 
definite  article.  But  I  went  up  to  see  Richard 
Mansfield  play  Beau  Brummel.  Strange  that  a 
character  like  that  should  live  so  long  in  history. 
Yet  if  he  had  not  said  'Wales,  ring  for  my  car 
riage,'  or  'Who  's  your  fat  friend  ?'  I  suppose  he 
would  have  been  forgotten.  A  nothing,  a  fad,  a 
mode,  a  man  who  had  no  weight  in  politics,  in 
commerce,  in  any  one  of  the  practical  depart 
ments  of  the  world,  and  yet  he  is  still  a  figure  in 
history.  All,  well,  he  had  the  force  to  head  the 
fashion,  to  be  proud  of  his  vanity,  to  impress  him 
self  on  a  period,  and  he  outlasts  the  worthier  men 
who  ministered  to  nobler  ends." 

"He  knew  the  Prince  of  Wales." 

"You  are  right.  Human  nature  is,  after  all, 
toady.  We  all  toady  to  something  or  somebody. 
We  have  all  something  to  get,  and  we  grovel  for 
it.  Sometimes  we  get  it  and  sometimes  we  don't. 
If  we  don't  get  it,  we  keep  groveling  till  we  do, 
and  if  we  do  get  it  we  grovel  for  something  else. 
And  we  never  admit  that  we  are  groveling. 
There  have  been  many  singularly  honest  men  in 
history,  but  no  man  ever  yet  was  honest  enough 
to  admit  being  a  toady.  It  is  all  right  sometimes. 
There  are  objects  in  life  worth  toadying  for.  It 
210 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

is  a  necessity  often.  It  is  all  very  well  to  talk  of  The  Mode 
being  manly  and  independent  and  never  cringing. 
We  cannot  help  it.  There  are  mouths  to  feed, 
and  loved  ones  to  protect,  and  life  is  full  of  re 
sponsibilities,  and  most  of  us  have  to  come  down 
on  our  marrow-bones  some  time  or  other." 

The  Old  Man  took  a  long  sip  and  then  leaned 
back  in  his  chair  and  toyed  with  his  eyeglass. 

"Yes,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  "it  is  curious  how 
with  the  ancient  regime  and  the  beaux  behind  us 
we  have  evolved  our  fashions  from  the  nigger 
minstrel  and  the  variety  singer." 

"What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"The  song  and  dance  man  carried  his  taste  in 
dress,  as  in  most  other  things,  on  to  the  stage. 
He  it  was  who  broke  out  in  striped  shirts  and  ex 
aggerated  ties  and  other  signs  of  blossoming  art, 
and  now  the  swell  of  the  period  comes  out  in  a 
broad  striped  green  or  blue  or  red  shirt  and  some 
times  wears  linen  with  spots  bigger  than  those 
on  the  sun  in  various  stages  of  virulent  eruption. 
Ah,  if  ever  we  come  to  the  silk  stockings  and  knee 
breeches  it  will  be  with  the  velvet  coats  and 
frilled  shirts  of  the  nigger  minstrel,  and  not  the 
dress  of  the  fine  old  gentlemen  of  taste,  who  had 
an  eye  for  the  beautiful.  We  don't  care  to  be  edu 
cated  by  stuck-up,  superior  people,  we  don't.  We 
want  to  be  superior  ourselves,  and  we  try  to  im 
prove  on  inferior  individuals,  rather  than  copy 
the  "upper  circle."  We  despise  what  ought  to  be 
211 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

The  Mode  within  the  capacity  of  our  own  intelligence,  but 
isn't.  Yes,  the  rough  diamond  is  well ;  but  the 
cut  diamond  is  something  better  after  all.  The 
most  honest-hearted  of  lime-mixers  will  be  uni 
versally  disliked  by  the  carload  of  well-dressed 
people  he  gets  in  amongst  in  his  honest  working 
suit.  The  chimney-sweep  carries  on  as  honest 
an  occupation  as  anybody,  but  he  has  to  wash  the 
soot  off  before  he  is  pleasant  to  look  upon." 
"That  is  a  purely  practical  matter." 
"My  friend,  everything  is  a  purely  practical 
matter.  Everything  means  something.  Foibles 
make  us  happy — and  other  people  uncomfortable. 
Dress  and  deportment  are  as  much  evidences  of 
character  today  as  they  were  in  the  olden  time. 
There  are  fools  who  affect  exaggeration  of  style 
in  finery,  but  they  are  not  as  much  fools,  after  all, 
as  those  who  affect  slovenliness ;  not  so  much 
fools  anyway,  for  the  dude  is  much  more  com 
fortable  to  be  beside  than  the  sloven.  There  are 
people  who  are  finicky;  that  is  only  having  mild 
weaknesses  of  a  cleanly  kind.  Between  those 
three  classes  the  ordinary  decent  citizen  and  gen 
tleman  moves  along,  well  dressed  and  perfectly 
comfortable.  And  as  for  deportment,  you  can't 
affect  to  be  a  gentleman,  you  've  got  to  be  one. 
The  gentlemanly  instinct  is  the  same  in  every 
race,  through  every  fashion,  in  every  age.  We 
all  have  fads,  we  all  have  foibles,  we  all  have  ec 
centricities  of  mind  and  taste,  as  we  have  eccen- 

212 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

tricities  of  physical  development.  Only  consid-  The  Mode 
eration  for  the  feelings  of  others  and  respect  for 
ourselves  should  be  common  to  us  all.  And 
somehow  the  most  honest  and  best-hearted  man 
in  the  world  may  be  as  fit  for  heaven,  but  he  isn't 
as  fit  for  earth,  without  them." 


213 


THE    COMIC    OPERA    OF    LIFE 


THE    COMIC    OPERA    OF   LIFE 

The  Seedy  Gentleman  sat  alone  by  the  fire  as  Comic  Opera 
they  came  in.  They  had  all  been  out  at  a  dance, 
and  the  exhilaration  had  not  left  them.  They 
gathered  around  the  Old  Man's  chair  and  greeted 
him  with  a  waltz  chorus.  He  looked  up  at  them 
with  a  smile  in  his  gentle  eyes. 

"Flowers  in  your  coats,"  he  said ;  "light  in  your 
eyes ;  the  movement  of  the  dance  lingering  in 
your  feet;  the  perfume  of  dainty  women  hovering 
around  you,  and  gayety  in  your  hearts  !  Sit 
down  !  Ye  are  genial  company." 

They  all  sat  down,  chattering.  They  talked  of 
the  ball  and  the  beautiful  buds  and  those  things 
that  men  talk  of  under  the  spell  of  dazzling  lights, 
of  music  and  of  radiant  women  in  their  best 
gowns  and  their  sweetest  smiles. 

"The  comic  opera  of  real  life,"  said  the  Old 
Man,  taking  up  the  conversation.  "One  of  the 
few  things  that  never  seem  to  pall,  on  or  off  the 
stage." 

"Comic  opera  ?" 

"Yes,  comic  opera.  Not  to  you  who  are  in  it, 
but  to  me  who  sit  against  the  wall  and  look  on. 
Some  day  you  '11  do  the  same,  and  then  you  '11 
comfort  yourselves  with  the  enjoyment  of  the 
comedy.  What  is  the  ballroom,  after  all,  but  a 
217 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Comic  Opera    theatre  ?     Its    scene    is    but    the    stage ;    its    gay 
crowd  but  the  characters  in  a  gay  comedy." 

"I  say,  Old  Man,  don't  depress  us  with  a  lec 
ture  !" 

"I'm  not  going  to  lecture.  Even  dowagers  will 
go  to  a  ball  and  be  patient  wallflowers  only  to  be 
in  the  atmosphere  of  youth  and  pleasure." 

"Not  always  patient  or  particularly  happy,"  put 
in  one  of  the  party. 

"It  depends  upon  the  age,"  said  the  Old  Man. 
''We  all  have  a  period  when  we  rush  into  life,  in 
a  desperate  effort  to  keep  our  hold  upon  youth 
and  its  enjoyments.  The  hold  grows  weaker,  and 
by  and  by  we  say  to  ourselves,  'It  is  over  !  We 
are  among  the  aged.  Let  us  rest  !'  Thus  it  is 
in  the  comic  opera  of  the  world  that  one  forgets 
even  if  he  is  old.  And  we  so  pray  sometimes  to 
forget  !" 

"I  should  think  it  would  make  you  sad  to  feel 
you  cannot  join  the  dance." 

"Pardon  me,"  said  the  Old  Gentleman,  "I  still 
can  trip  a  measure;  but  do  I  hurt  your  feelings  ? 
I  think  the  modern  dancer  is  a  figure  in  comic 
opera,  and  the  modern  dance  the  very  doggerel  of 
motion.  But  let  that  pass.  The  dance  suits  the 
dress  and  I  doubt  if  a  man  in  a  dress  coat  could 
possibly  be  pictorial  or  graceful  in  a  minuet.  But 
I  like  to  study  life  in  a  ballroom.  It  is  forever 
to  me  a  suggestion  of  comic  opera." 

"There  are  some  serious  things  happen  there," 
said  one  of  the  party  who  had  been  very  quiet. 
218 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

"What  !  Did  she  find  a  more  fascinating  part-  Comic  Of  era 
ner  this  evening  ?  Did  she  turn  a  glassy  eye 
upon  you  ?  That  is  but  comedy.  I  never  knew  a 
fellow  in  love  who  was  perfectly  happy  at  a  ball 
unless  his  sweetheart  was  not  there.  My  friend, 
human  nature  will  out  in  the  best  of  women — and 
men ;  and  the  man  or  woman  who  can  go  through 
an  evening  under  such  circumstances  without 
flirting  can  at  any  moment  secure  a  large  salary 
from  any  dime  museum  in  the  country.  She  '11 
be  all  right  tomorrow." 

"I  object  to  this  thing  being  made  personal," 
said  the  confused  youth. 

"Oh,  it  suits  anybody.  You  're  not  the  only 
one  who  feels  like  that  tonight.  Ah,  well !  The 
spell  of  white  shoulders  and  ivory  necks,  of 
flashing  gowns  of  dainty  shades,  and  fluttering 
fans,  which  serve  so  many  purposes  for  woman 
kind,  lasts  through  all  time  and  with  all  men  until 
they  die.  There  are  so  many  women  and  so  few 
men  nowadays  !  And  a  wise  Providence  has 
provided  the  fair  sex  with  fascinations  that  draw 
men  from  other  women  and  help  to  keep  the  bal 
ance  between  the  two.  Comic  opera  is  nothing  to 
the  real  comedy  of  the  ballroom.  I  am  free  to 
confess,"  said  the  Seedy  Gentleman,  "that  I  think 
if  women  were  not  more  selfish  than  men,  the 
courts  would  be  occupied  entirely  by  breach-of- 
promise  cases.  But  women  know  their  own  spell 
and  they  are  not  cruel  enough  to  exact  the  pen 
alty  from  men,  when  they  have  yielded  to  it. 
219 


THE   SEEDY   GENTLEMAN 

Comic  Opera  Women  are  gallant  conquerors,  generous  in  con 
quest.  They  have  no  use  for  the  conquered. 
When  men  have  yielded  the  fun  is  over." 

"They  sometimes  do  a  little  yielding  them 
selves." 

"Certainly.  Why  not  ?  Was  there  ever  a 
woman  who  did  not  like  to  see  the  man  swallow 
her  dainty  bit  of  bait  and  wriggle  on  the  hook  ? 
That  is  human  nature.  How  easy  it  is  for  a 
woman  in  her  best  gown  to  capture  a  man  !  Go 
to  !  We  are  all  the  simplest  kind  of  vain  crea 
tures,  we  men,  and  we  can  all  be  caught  with  a 
spoon.  We  would  not  mind  being  landed — but 
those  women — they  have  a  way  of  throwing  us 
back  in  the  water  with  the  marks  of  the  hook  on 
us.  That's  what  we  kick  about." 

"How  are  your  gills  ?" 

''Healed  up.  But  the  plots  and  counterplots  of 
the  ballroom !  The  tender  tones,  the  affectionate 
pressures  of  the  arm,  the  squeezes  of  the  hand, 
the  expressive  glances  that  the  wallflower  sees  as 
he  sits  and  studies  the  moving  crowd  !  And  the 
same  girl  goes  through  it  all  with  a  dozen  men, 
and  the  same  man  with  a  dozen  girls,  and  they're 
all  happy,  and  they  don't  mean  anything,  and  they 
do  it  with  so  many  partners  that  they  all  forget 
all  about  it  in  the  morning.  It  is  lovely.  It  is  a 
great  dispensation  of  Providence,  this  arrange 
ment.  It  has  all  the  pleasure  of  real  love,  with 
out  the  disadvantage  of  being  expected  to  last 
forever." 

220 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

"You  're  cynical  because  you  can  't  feel  like  us    Comic  Opera 
tonight." 

"I  shall  have  the  advantage  of  you  in  the  morn 
ing,  I  doubt  not.  But  I  don't  want  to  be  cynical. 
In  youth  or  age  the  merry,  light-hearted  spirit 
is  God's  best  gift  to  man.  To  look  on  the  bright 
side  of  everything,  to  rise  above  care  and  worry 
and  look  down  on  them  with  a  laugh,  to  find 
pleasure  growing  beside  pain  all  along  the  path 
of  life ;  yes,  I  envy  the  people  who  feel  like  that. 
Gayety  !  Who  would  wish  to  kill  it  ?  Merri 
ment  !  God  keep  us  all  merry  !  And  we  can 
only  be  merry  by  gathering  with  our  kind.  I 
sometimes  think  that  men  have  made  the  serious 
drama  out  of  a  life  the  Creator  meant  should  be 
a  kind  of  dainty  comic  opera.  The  world  went 
awry  somewhere  somehow  thousands  of  years 
ago,  and  it  has  gone  awry  ever  since.  Inhuman 
ity  brought  the  first  tear;  the  joy  of  living  was 
a  smile  until  that  came.  Even  in  youth  nowadays 
we  seem  to  feel  that  life  is  full  of  trouble,  and 
turn  our  faces  to  the  dark  too  much.  The  strug 
gle  of  life,  maybe,  does  not  begin  any  earlier  than 
it  ever  did,  but  we  are  taught  that  there  is  no 
time  to  lose ;  that  to  win  place  and  make  money 
are  the  two  great  objects  of  life,  and  we  must 
beat  our  fellow  man  at  whatever  cost.  Our  pleas 
ures,  like  our  occupations,  are  feverish.  We 
hurry  into  them  and  hurry  through  with  them, 
and  tire  in  a  moment  of  all  that  should  make  life 
calm,  full  of  content,  happy.  We  seem  to  take 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Comic  Opera  enjoyment  like  champagne,  which  exhilarates  us 
for  an  hour  and  gives  us  a  headache  in  the  morn 
ing." 

"We  should  take  it  like  hot  Scotch." 
"An  infinitely  better  thing — in  moderation. 
Gentlemen,  let  us  be  more  serious  in  our  ambi 
tions  and  less  serious  in  our  pleasures.  It  is  an 
age  of  nerves.  The  world  needs  a  tonic.  Life  is 
not  shorter  than  it  was  before,  although  it  seems 
to  be.  Strange,  that  with  all  the  wondrous  in 
ventions  to  save  time,  we  have  much  less  of  it 
than  our  forefathers.  But  there  is  so  much  to  en 
joy  in  life  if  we  would  only  take  it  easily.  We 
are  impatient  for  the  day  to  come;  we  are  impa 
tient  for  the  evening  to  fall.  We  enter  into 
schemes  for  wealth,  projects  for  worldly  success, 
and  we  cannot  enjoy  the  time  that  must  pass  be 
fore  their  fulfillment  for  eagerness  to  see  them 
fulfilled.  And  even  our  dreams,  be  they  of  ambi 
tion  or  of  love,  keep  us  forever  in  restless  wake- 
fulness.  Good  night !  Ah !  I  don't  need  to  wish 
you  happy  dreams  !  Good-night  !" 


222 


RAG-TIME 


ABOUT    RAG-TIME 

"Yes,"  said  the  Seedy  Gentleman,  "it  makes  a    Rag-Time 
difference — sometimes,    I    think,    all    the     differ 
ence." 

"What  ?" 

"Well,  there  was  a  time  when  the  music  of  life, 
so  to  speak,  was  played  in  even,  rhythmic,  sooth 
ing  measure,  except  for  an  occasional  outburst  of 
trumpets  and  blare  of  fortissimo.  Even  now  you 
can  find  places  not  very  far  away,  where  it  is  still 
the  same.  But  I  tell  you,  gentlemen,  today  life  is 
played  rag-time  and  keeps  us  on  the  jump." 

"That's  better  than  dull,  stupid  routine,  isn't 
it  ?"  said  the  Fellow  in  the  Corner. 

"I  don't  know;  I  don't  know.  If  all  this  ex 
citement  made  us  happier,  and  if  all  the  restless 
energy  were  successfully  directed,  maybe  it  would 
be.  But  this  rag-time  business — and  it's  all  over 
life — wears  on  the  nerves,  and  superinduces  con 
ditions  in  which  it  is  impossible  for  anybody  to 
enjoy  anything." 

"John,  the  gentleman  is  dry." 

"It's  all  rag-time;  we  eat,  drink,  love,  hate, 
dance,  sing,  in  rag-time.  People  write,  think 
and  read  in  rag-time;  they  marry,  are  given  in 
marriage,  and  taken  away  in  divorce,  all  in  rag 
time.  It  makes  life  a  case  of  neurosis." 
225 


THE   SEEDY   GENTLEMAN 

"Oh,  you  can't  keep  up  with  the  procession. 
That's  all  the  matter  with  you." 

"Well,  I  don't  want  to ;  but  I  can't  get  a 
chance  to  sit  down.  We  have  all  to  live,  and  the 
cashier  goes  along  with  the  procession.  I  've  got 
to  keep  up  with  him.  But,  gentlemen,"  went  on 
the  Old  Man,  straightening  himself  out  in  his 
easy  chair,  "I  doubt  very  largely  this  stuff  about 
keeping  up  with  the  procession.  I  doubt  if  it  is 
necessary  to  fight  and  struggle  and  kick  to  be 
successful.  Yes,  I  have  heard  that ;  1  have  seen 
it  apparently  proved,  too.  But  sometimes — very 
often,  perhaps — you  see  the  fellow  who  has  el 
bowed  his  way  to  the  front,  so  exhausted  by  the 
labor,  that  he  falls  by  the  wayside,  and  limps 
along  at  the  tail  ever  after." 

"Is  there  any  other  way  to  get  to  the  front?" 
asked  the  Practical  Man. 

"Maybe,  maybe  !  You  see  that  very  often,  very 
often.  Some  fellow,  weary  of  the  push  and  pull 
of  the  crowded  highway,  sees  a  cool,  quiet,  shady 
wood,  and  thinks  it  would  be  pleasanter  to  be  in 
there.  He  wanders  away,  makes  a  little  path  for 
himself,  enjoying  the  restfulness,  the  beauty,  the 
charm  of  living.  Aimlessly,  happily,  seeking 
nothing  but  the  delight  of  his  surroundings,  he 
lets  the  days  go  past.  He  hears  the  roar,  the 
shriek,  the  brass  band  and  the  big  drums  of  the 
horde  of  rushing  men  and  women,  he  keeps  his 
untrodden  path,  and  suddenly,  when  he  has  no 
idea  of  being  near  it  at  all,  his  little  trail  leads  out 
226 


THE  SEEDY   GENTLEMAN 

to  the  highway,  and  there  he  finds  himself  ahead    Rag-Time 
of  the  procession." 

"There's  something  in  that,  old  man,"  said 
the  Fellow  in  the  Corner,  approvingly. 

"You  see,  we  weren't  all  meant  to  be  at  the 
head  of  the  procession.  It  is  the  procession  that 
keeps  us  where  we  are,  at  the  end  or  the  front  of 
it.  So  many  people  mistake  energy  for  desert; 
the  ability  to  try  for  the  ability  to  succeed — rag 
time  for  music." 

"If  you  want  to  get  on  you  must '' 

"Advertise,  I  suppose  you  want  to  say.  If  you 
have  anything  people  want,  true,  you  must  let 
them  know  it.  And  if  people  don't  want  a 
thing,  such  is  human  nature,  you  may  persuade 
them  they  do  by  crying  it  persistently.  Gentle 
men,  I  don't  know  anything  more  interesting 
than  a  street  fakir.  I  admire  the  street  fakir." 

"Why  ?" 

"Well,  I  have  a  theory  that  it  is  not  to  make 
money,  although  he  may  like  to  do  that,  the  street 
fakir  follows  his  calling.  The  occupation  must 
be  fascinating.  The  clever  fakir  is  all  through 
our  life;  but  I  can  imagine  the  keen  enjoyment  it 
must  be  to  those  fellows  who  gather  crowds  on 
street  corners — for  they  have  brains — to  watch  the 
simple,  open-mouthed  gull  pungle  up  his  money, 
and  buy  his  valueless  stuff.  I  have  watched,  with 
the  keenest  interest,  the  open  and  frank  delight 
with  which  the  corn-salve  disposer  pursues  his 
business  of  an  evening.  It  is  a  study,  and  what 
227 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Rag-Time  the  corn-salve  man  does  on  the  street  corner,  in 
numerable  great  men  do  and  have  done  in  the 
higher  business  of  life." 

"And  they  keep  up  with  the  procession  and  its 
rag-time,"  put  in  the  Candid  Man. 

"They  keep  at  the  head  of  it  longer  than  any 
other,  for  faking  is  not  as  wearing  as  the  genuine 
work.  But  I  think  that  it  is  so  hard  nowadays 
to  keep  step,  in  rag-time,  that  nearly  all  the  suc 
cessful  men,  outside  of  those  who  have  acquired 
plenty  of  money,  which  falls  into  easy, 
rhythmic  measure  when  you  have  made  the 
first  fortune,  have  found  deliberately  or  acci 
dentally  a  short  cut.  They  have  imitators.  Let 
one  man  find  the  head  of  the  procession  by  a  new 
path,  there  are  hundreds  to  follow ;  but,  unfor 
tunately,  most  of  them  discover  when  they  reach 
the  high  road,  that  the  procession  has  gone  past. 
So  they  fall  into  the  rag-time  as  well  as  they 
can  and  mix  up  with  the  rest." 

"Most  things  are  imitation,"  said  the  Practical 
Man. 

"No;  it  seems  to  me  that,  old  as  everything  is 
supposed  to  be,  everything  that  makes  a  name  to 
day  is  new.  It  is  sufficiently  changed  to  be 
original.  Isn't  it  odd  that,  for  instance,  taking  all 
the  different  styles  of  dress  that  have  existed  in 
the  world,  no  two  nations  have  ever  dressed  abso 
lutely  alike.  We  revive  fashions  that  have  passed 
away.  Yet  take  a  picture  of  the  old  and  the  re- 
228 


THE   SEEDY   GENTLEMAN 

vived,  and  they  are  still  very  different.    It  is  the    Rag-Time 
same  thing  with  ideas." 

"And  how  does  rag-time  come  into  fashions  ?" 

"I  think  that,  in  most  ages  and  races,  women 
have  always  dressed  in  rag-time.  Sometimes  in  a 
ballroom  or  a  fashion-plate,  you  may  see  the 
rhythmic  beauty,  but — well — not  even  when  a 
woman  is  tailor-made,  does  she  seem  able  to 
keep  away  from  rag-time.  She  '11  have  a  hat  or 
some  fluff  that  doesn't  suit.  Come  to  think  of 
it,  gentlemen,  I  never  saw  a  fashion-plate  that 
looked  like  the  woman  dressed  in  the  style  it  illus 
trated.  Well,  well,  women  have  made  men  dance 
rag-time  since  the  days  of  the  Garden.  I  should 
not  wonder  if  they  were  responsible  for  most  of 
the  eccentric  measures  in  which  our  lives  are 
played." 

"Are  they  responsible  for  the  restless,  wasted 
energy,  too  ?"  asked  the  Candid  Man. 

"Sometimes,"  said  the  Old  Fellow,  with  a  smile. 
"A  man  might  not  care  to  work  so  hard  to  make 
money  if  he  hadn't  a  sweetheart  whom  he  had  to 
take  to  the  theatre  and  a  little  supper  afterward. 
And  energy  wasted  !  Well,  what  do  you  think 
yourself  of  your  own  experience  ?  Gentlemen,  a 
large  proportion  of  the  wasted  energy  of  this  life 
is  thrown  away  to  win  women.  If  some  statisti 
cian  would  give  us  the  percentage  of  waste  force 
in  needless  jealousy,  in  fruitless  endeavor  in  love- 
making;  if  he  would  calculate  how  much  money 
it  has  cost  males  of  the  human  race  in  courting 
229 


THE   SEEDY   GENTLEMAN 

Rag-Time  girls  they  didn't  get,  I  fancy  we  would  have  a 
most  interesting  table  of  figures." 

The  Old  Gentleman  drank  off  his  toddy  and 
rose  to  go. 

"Well,  after  all,  rag-time  has  its  merits.  We 
would  grow  tired  of  life,  perhaps,  if  it  were  eter 
nally  simply  rhythmic  and  merely  melodious.  We 
know  that  in  the  music  of  life  the  discord  has  its 
place  and  value.  The  misunderstood  question  in 
it  all,  I  take  it,  is  the  use  of  the  tempo.  We  all 
want  the  world  to  go  at  our  tempo,  and  the  result 
of  trying  to  effect  that  is  rag-time.  Ah  !  the  duet 
of  love  often  goes  out  of  tune  because  we  can't 
agree  upon  the  tempo.  Yes,  when  we  are  sweet 
hearts,  we  go  beautifully  together,  but  when  the 
duet  changes  to  the  domestic,  and  then  becomes  a 
trio,  a  quartet,  a  septet — what  you  will — well — 
then  the  music  of  the  home  is  apt  to  tumble  into 
rag-time." 

He  rose,  and  as  he  went  out,  he  turned  and 
said,  with  a  half-sad  smile: 

"Better  rag-time  in  the  home  than  no  music 
at  all  !" 


230 


THE   LAST  ROSE   OF  SUMMER 


THE    LAST    ROSE   OF    SUMMER 

The  Seedy  Gentleman,  who  had  been  apparently    The  Last  Rose 
dozing  in  the  corner  with  his  hands  folded,  sud-    of  Summer 
denly  began  to  hum.     They  stopped  talking  and 
listened — 

Where  thy  mates  of  the  garden 
Lie  scentless  and  dead, 

came  plaintively  through  the  smoke,  with  a  trem 
olo  on  the  scentless. 

"He's  going  back  to  'The  Last  Rose  of  Sum 
mer,'  "  said  one  of  the  group,  in  an  undertone. 

"I  heard  that  in  'Martha'  tonight,"  he  said. 
"The  last  rose  of  summer  will  never  die.  There 
is  no  last  rose  of  summer.  Thus  are  all  our  most 
affecting  sentimental  emotions  crushed  out.  It  is 
very  strange,"  he  went  on,  raising  himself  up, 
"very  strange  that  there  seems  to  be  an  absolutely 
ineradicable  bias  in  favor  of  violets,  and  snow 
drops  and  roses  in  human  kind.  Why  doesn't 
some  poet  write  about  the  fading  chrysanthemum 
or  the  falling  carnation  or  the  withered  aster  ? 
Some  have  tried,  but  the  public  won't  accept  the 
verses.  No,  it 's  all  the  violet,  early  and  late,  the 
dying  rose,  the  first  snowdrop,  and  so  on.  Ah, 
well  !  This  poetry  is  a  curiously  indefinable 
thing.  Shakespeare  said  there  was  nothing  in 
the  name  of  the  rose.  He  was  wrong;  he  was 
wrong.  It 's  the  poetry.  Now,"  said  the  Seedy 
233 


THE   SEEDY   GENTLEMAN 

The  Last  Rose  Gentleman,  laying  down  the  law  with  pointed 
of  Summer  finger,  "you  can  put  'rose'  anywhere  you  like  in  a 
verse — beginning,  end,  middle — and  it  is  poetic. 
Violet  is  a  very  sweetly  sounding  word  and  lends 
itself  to  musical  inflection,  and  snowdrop  has 
something  attractive  in  it.  But,  fancy  ending  a 
line  with  chrysanthemum — or  pink — or  convolvul 
us,  or  even  honeysuckle.  Fancy  what  rhyme 
you'd  get  for  the  last — truckle — buckle— no — no — 
there's  a  great  deal  in  a  name  and  it  means  popu 
larity  or  unpopularity  very  often." 

The  waiter  came  in  answer  to  the  bell.  They 
gave  their  orders. 

"Well,  old  man,  whisky's  not  a  pretty  name,  but 
it  seems  popular,"  said  the  Practical  Man. 

"Did  you  ever  notice  that  everything  to  eat  and 
drink  that  isn't  too  expensive  for  the  ordinary 
pocket  has  some  thoroughly  unpoetic  name? 
There's  beefsteak  and  veal,  and  ham,  and  eggs, 
and  mutton.  That's  why  poets  never  have  written 
much  poetry  about  things  to  eat.  There  's  some 
indefinable  relation,  gentlemen,  between  the  price 
of  a  meal  and  the  names  on  the  bill  of  fare,  and, 
incidentally,  it  seems  to  me,  between  the  name  of 
a  dish  and  its  digestibility.  Even  in  French  it 's 
bo2uf  and  mouton.  When  you  strike  a  dish  with 
a  poetic  name  it  is  expensive,  and  it  is  generally 
quite  unhealthy." 

"I  say,  you  were  singing  'The  Last  Rose  of 
Summer,' "  put  in  the  Fellow  in  the  Corner. 

"Yes,   yes.     But  it   isn't  fair.     After  all,  why 

234 


THE   SEEDY   GENTLEMAN 

should  we  not  have  poems  and  songs  about  'the    The  Last  Rose 
new  potato,'  and  'the  first  sweet  onion  of  early    of  Summer 
spring,'   and  'the   coming   in  of  the  asparagus'  ? 
It's  an  unjust  world  in  more  ways  than  one." 

"You  shouldn't  desecrate  the  sentiment  of  the 
song  like  that,"  said  the  Candid  Man. 

"True,  true !  I  can't  imagine  the  parting  lover 
giving  his  sweetheart  a  head  of  cauliflower,  or  an 
artichoke,  or  a  turnip,  and  expecting  her  to  treas 
ure  it  till  he  comes  back.  I  admit  a  girl  carrying 
about  a  dried-up  tomato  under  her  shirt-waist,  for 
love,  would  not  seem  to  suit.  No,  no !  There's  a 
fitness  of  things  about  it,  after  all.  Yes,  it  has  to 
be  a  flower,  and — it  has  to  be  of  a  convenient 
size.  So  we  '11  still  give  her  a  rose  or  a  violet  or 
something  light,  fragrant  and  delicate,  that  can 
be  worn  without  inconvenience  over  the  heart. 
'  'Tis  the  last  rose  of  summer.'  " 

And  once  again  the  Old  Fellow  began  to  sing. 
They  shut  him  off  this  time,  and  he  relieved  his 
feelings  with  a  sip  of  toddy. 

"What  set  you  off  on  this,  anyway  ?"  asked  the 
Fellow  in  the  Corner. 

"There  are  moments,  gentlemen,"  answered  the 
Old  Man,  dreamily,  "when  a  little  song,  old  it 
may  be — the  older  the  more  likely — will  set 
a'surging  a  whole  sea  of  emotions  within  a  man's 
breast,  that " 

"Hold  on  !     We  'd  rather  you  'd  sing." 

"You  are  difficult  to  please  this  evening.     Well, 
what    would    you  ?     It 's    an    old    song,    sung   to 
235 


THE   SEEDY   GENTLEMAN 

The  Last  Rose  death,  sung  badly,  sung  well,  sung  all  kinds  of 
of  Summer  ways,  and  yet  it  lives.  I'  ve  known  people  to  cry 
over  it — cry  about  a  simple  tune,  and  a  girl  pluck 
ing  the  petals  from  a  simple  rose  and  throwing 
them  on  the  stage.  What  is  the  last  rose  of  sum 
mer  that  we  should  cry  over  it  ?" 

The  Old  Gentleman  stopped  and  fell  into  the 
frequent  reverie,  that  seemed  to  change  him  alto 
gether. 

"What  is  the  last  rose  of  summer  to  us  ?  The 
epitome  of  the  sadness  of  everything  beautiful 
and  pleasant ;  we  know  that  it  must  pass  away. 
The  flush  ot  youth,  the  joy  of  young  manhood, 
the  strength  and  the  delight  of  vigorous  prime, 
the  sympathy  and  friendship  of  middle  life,  and 
even  the  dreams  of  all  that  has  been  dear  in  all 
our  lives — the  solace  of  old  age.  Everything 
goes,  even  life  itself,  for  all  we  know.  Tears, 
idle  tears  !  What  a  great  poet  was  the  Creator  ! 
What  poetry  this  is  that  fills  the  eyes  with  tears 
when  the  heart's  depths  are  stirred  by  grief  or 
sadness  !  The  rain  upon  the  windows  of  the  soul 
that  shuts  out  from  the  vision  all  outward  things, 
as  if  they  would  be  sacrilege.  Or  if  the  eyes  may 
see,  makes  all  things  sad.  Ah !  What  more 
beautiful  thing  could  be  made  a  symbol  of 
sympathy,  than  the  tear  that  falls  upon  the  brow 
of  death;  the  clear  and  gentle  drops  that  glisten 
in  the  eyes  of  those  who  love  us,  when  pain  or 
sorrow  falls  to  us  !  And  when  it  is  joy,  they 
shine  like  diamonds.  I  wonder,  if  one  analyzed 
236 


THE   SEEDY   GENTLEMAN 

them,  if  he  might  not  find  a  difference  in  the  ele-    The  Last  Rose 
ments  between  the  tear  of  joy  and  the  tear  of  sor-    of  Summer 
row  ?" 

The  Old  Man  seemed  to  fall  into  a  kind  of 
dream  and  was  silent  for  a  long  time.  They 
waited  a  little  for  him  to  go  on.  Then  they 
chattered  among  themselves  in  a  low  tone  and  let 
him  dream.  By  and  by  he  woke  up  out  of  his 
reverie. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  gentlemen.  I  fear  I  wan 
dered  rudely  away  from  you.  We  were  talking  of 
'The  Last  Rose  of  Summer,'  were  we  not  ?  Or 
I  was,  at  least.  It  is  the  pain  of  all  things  beauti 
ful  that  they  can  never  last.  It  has  been  said  by 
poets  in  all  the  ages ;  and  yet  the  roses  come  again. 
The  last  year's  flowers  have  filled  their  purpose 
and  returned  to  dust — just  as  we  and  all  things 
else  created.  Maybe,  if  we  could  take  our  lesson 
from  the  roses,  we  might  find  life  brighter.  But 
no  !  We  will  not  understand.  We  pluck  the 
flower  of  love,  and  wear  it  gayly  on  our  breasts ; 
then  we  let  the  love  tree  die — and  it  never  flowers 
again.  Is  it  not  often  the  same  with  friendship, 
too?  We  watch  the  rose-bush;  we  trim  it;  we 
give  it  the  moisture  without  which  it  cannot  live; 
we  guard  it  from  the  winter  cold,  and  nourish  it 
until  the  summer  comes  again,  and  there,  fresh 
roses,  fragrant,  dainty  as  before,  come  back  to  us. 
What  if  we  watched  our  friends  as  carefully  and 
tenderly  ?  Would  we  not  find  them  like  the  rose 
bushes  ?  If  when  we  have  planted  the  tree  of 

237 


THE   SEEDY   GENTLEMAN 

The  Last  Rose  love  in  some  fair  soul,  where  it  has  found  congen- 
of  Summer  ial  soil,  we  watered  it  with  sympathy,  and  glad 
dened  it  with  smiles,  and  tended  it  when  it  needed 
care,  would  we  not  find  it  as  the  flowers,  with 
seasons  like  the  rest,  sometimes  shedding  its 
withered  leaves,  withered  on  us,  sometimes  green 
with  the  freshness  of  the  spring,  or  full-blown 
with  dainty  flowers  for  us  to  pluck  and  wear 
again  ?  Is  not  the  heart  but  a  rose-tree,  after 
all?  I  don't  know " 

The  Old  Fellow  paused,  as  if  he  caught  a  fur 
tive  smile  at  his  sentimentality ;  but  they  did  not 
speak. 

"Ah,  well  !"  he  said,  as  he  rose  to  go,  "it  seems 
to  me  that  we  have  tried  to  find  in  the  scheme  of 
creation  some  law  made  specially  for  men  and 
women.  And  it  is  not  there.  Through  all  nature 
this  same  ceaseless  development  and  change ; 
spring,  summer,  autumn,  winter,  for  the  flowers ; 
spring,  summer,  autumn,  winter,  for  all  living 
things.  Maybe — I  say,  maybe — we  '11  find  out 
some  day  that  our  feelings  are  nothing  but  a  cli 
mate  in  us ;  and  I  dare  say  even  now  a  man  could, 
if  he  cared  to  go  into  the  matter,  predict  in  the 
morning  when  he  gets  up,  his  own  weather,  so  to 
speak,  for  the  day  to  come." 

He  rose  and,  humming  the  old  tune,  took  up  his 
hat  and  coat,  and  toddled  out  into  the  night. 


238 


CURIOSITY 


ABOUT    CURIOSITY 

"That's  all  there  is  about  it,"  said  the  Seedy    Curiosity 
Gentleman,  as  if  he  had  finally  settled  some  argu 
ment  with  himself. 

"What 's  all  there  is  about  what  ?" 

"There  !  That  question  proves  it.  Curiosity, 
curiosity  !  The  cause  of  all  trouble,  the  cause  of 
most  of  our  misery.  We  are  eternally  worrying 
about  things,  in  spite  of  the  experiences  of  aeons 
that  it  doesn't  do  us  a  bit  of  good  to  find  out." 

"Find  out  what  ?"  asked  somebody. 

"Anything.  If  you  will  examine  into  the  mat 
ter,"  said  the  Old  Fellow,  leaning  back  in  his 
chair,  "you  will  find  that  the  happiest  man  is  he 
who  never  asks  questions  or  wants  to  know,  you 
know.  We  do  everything  out  of  curiosity.  Curi 
ous  about  ourselves,  curious  about  other  people, 
curious  about  the  past,  curious  about  the  present, 
curious  about  the  future." 

"Well,  we  know  the  past,"  said  the  Practical 
Man. 

"Do  we  ?"  asked  the  old  man,  in  a  far-off  tone. 
"Do  we  really  know  our  own  past?  What  be 
comes  of  the  past?  Ah!  it  looms  up  sud 
denly  in  unexpected,  unrecognizable  shapes. 
Incidents  that  it  seemed  were  turning  points  of 
our  lives  appear  to  have  been  nothing  and  things 
241 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Curiosity  we  never  thought  of  prove  to  have  been  the 
most  potent  instruments  of  fate.  I  wonder 
if  the  present  is  not  often  the  past,  changed  so 
we  do  not  know  it;  if  the  future  will  not  be  the 
past,  traveling  with  us  onward  till  we  die.  Maybe 
the  good  of  today  is  the  evil  of  yesterday,  and  the 
evil  of  the  present  only  the  good  of  the  past. 
Well,  well  !" 

"Don't  get  so  mournful.  Have  a  toddy,"  said 
the  Fellow  in  the  Corner. 

"The  toddy  of  tonight — the  headache  of  the 
morning.  That's  so  like  life,  gentlemen,  so  like 
life."  And  the  Old  Fellow  betrayed  signs  of  tear 
fulness. 

"Well,  there  's  the  toddy  tonight,  anyway.  Let 
the  headache  come  with  the  day." 

"True  philosophy,  true  philosophy.  You  see, 
it's  funny,"  he  went  on,  with  a  queer  twist  of  his 
face,  "it 's  funny !  I  suppose  it 's  all  right ;  but, 
if  the  headache  came  first " 

"Maybe  we  wouldn't  take  the  toddy  after." 

"True;  toddy  isn't  quite  the  thing  in  the  morn 
ing.  Headache  is,  perhaps,  more  appropriate  then. 
Toddy  may  be  the  disease  and  headache  the 
remedy.  However,  touching  this  curiosity — as  I 
remarked — poor  Elsa " 

"That's  the  first  we've  heard  of  her.  Who 
is  Elsa?  Did  she  put  that  flower  in  your  coat?" 

"I  spoke  of  Lohengrin's  Elsa,"  said  the  Old  Man, 
straightening  himself  up,  "of  Elsa  of  Brabant." 

"What  about   her?" 

242 


THE   SEEDY   GENTLEMAN 

"You  are   ignorant,   ignorant.     I  am  surprised    Curiosity 
at  your  lack  of " 

"Curiosity?" 

"Well,  no ;  you  can't  be  curious  if  you  don't 
know  anything  to  be  curious  about.  There  was 
Elsa  of  Brabant.  Lohengrin  told  her  she  mustn't 
ask  who  he  was,  but  she  had  to — had  to.  It  was 
her  woman's  nature.  I  have  always  thought  that 
it  wasn't  fair.  It  was  too  much  to  ask  of  a 
woman — any  woman — to  marry  a  fellow  and  not 
ask  who  he  was.  We  complain  of  women  who  do 
that  nowadays.  Oh,  some  of  them  do,  even  now, 
and  then  they  find  out;  and  when  they  do,  it  isn't 
only  the  husband  that  goes  away.  It's  the  wife, 
and  well — the  husband  disappears,  practically 
about  as  completely  as  Lohengrin.  Maybe  not 
that,  quite.  But  there  are  plenty  more  Lohengrins, 
that  come  in  buggies — not  drawn  by  swans.  I 
think  myself,"  went  on  the  Old  Chap  confiden 
tially.  "I  think  if  I  had  any  passably  good-looking 
female  relative  who  was  sought  after  by  a  fellow 
who  came  from  nowhere,  even  if  he  were  as 
resplendent  as  Lohengrin,  and  hauled  in  by  a 
swan,  I  would  counsel  her  to  be  cautious.  That 
story " 

"Oh,  you're  taking  all  the  poetry  out  of  it,"  said 
the  Sentimental  Man,  who  rarely  spoke. 

"Am  I  ?  Pardon  me !  I  wouldn't  hurt  your 
sentimental  soul  for  a  million.  But  what  curiosity 
has  cost  women  in  this  life !" 

"And  men." 

243 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Curiosity  "And  some  men.  Man  is  much  less  given  to 
curiosity  than  woman.  Men  generally  find  out  so 
much  they  'd  rather  not  know  that  they  lose  their 
curiosity.  We — we — you  see,"  he  said  with  just 
a  little  cynical  smile,  "we  are  so  chivalrous,  so 
kindly,  so  careful  of  the  other  weaker  sex,  that 
we  conceal  everything  they  would  like  to  know 
from  them,  just  out  of  tenderness.  Maybe — I 
don't  know — maybe  if  we  'd  tell  them  all,  they 
would  lose  their  curiosity,  too.  Now,  I  am  in 
clined  to  think  that  women  marry  largely  from 
curiosity.  That  is,  indeed,"  he  said  airily,  "that 
is  where  we  have  them." 

"We?  Hang  it,  you're  an  old  bachelor.  What 
do  you  know  about  it?"  petulantly  put  in  the 
Cynic. 

"Well,"  said  the  Old  Fellow,  humbly,  "perhaps 
I  shouldn't  argue  the  point.  Of  course,  I  admit 
— apparently — no  woman  ever  had  curiosity 
enough  to  marry  me.  I  take  it  back !  Let  me 
say — that  is  where  you  have  them.  Fate  is  such 
a  strange  thing,  and  women  are  fatalists — even 
those  who  don't  know  it.  Elsa  dreams  of  the 
knight  who  is  to  come  to  her  and  save  her 
queendom  and  make  her  happy.  If  he  had  come 
in  a  linen  duster  and  fought  with  a  rusty  sword; 
if  by  some  strange  freak  it  had  not  been  Lohen 
grin  at  all,  but  somebody  else;  if  Lohengrin  had 
been  late,  and  missed  the  tournament,  Elsa  would 
have  seen  her  fate  in  the  accidental  linen  duster, 
and  have  married  him.  Didn't  her  dream  tell  of 

244 


THE   SEEDY   GENTLEMAN 

his  coming?     Ah,  those  dreams!     Those  visions!    Curiosity 
God  help  us !    What  would  anybody  or  anything 
be  without  them !" 

The  Old  Gentleman  sighed  the  last  words  into 
his  glass,  and  waved  his  hand  for  more. 

"If  only  she  had  remained  in  that  dreamland, 
where  one  asks  no  questions,  accepts  everything, 
applies  no  logic,  knows  no  reasoning,  she,  like  all 
the  rest  of  humanity,  perhaps,  might  have  been 
happy.  So  would  Lot's  wife  and  Bluebeard's 
family  and  innumerable  other  estimable  people  in 
history  have  been,  commencing  with  our  little- 
respected  female  progenitor,  Eve.  Still,  I  think 
things  are  different  today.  We  do  not  punish 
curiosity  any  more.  We  know  a  trick  worth  two 
of  that.  The  penalty  of  curiosity  is  the  disap 
pointment  of  finding  out." 

He  took  up  his  new  glass  and  held  it  gracefully 
in  his  outstretched  hand  while  he  talked. 

"I  fancy  we  do  an  injustice  to  Bluebeard's 
wives.  I  don't  believe  their  untoward  fate  was 
due  to  curiosity  so  much.  Maybe  the  first  one 
might  have  fallen  a  victim  to  curiosity;  but  I 
am  inclined  to  believe  that  the  later  young  women 
who  married  Bluebeard  simply  did  it  to  show 
they  could  get  the  best  of  him ;  to  prove,  as  so 
many  of  us  always  want  to  do,  that  where  some 
body  else  failed  they  could  succeed.  They  didn't 
know  how,  of  course,  before  they  married  him; 
but  then  a  woman  always  trusts  to  luck.  When 
she  does  not,  she  is  lost.  I  think  some  of  them 

245 


THE   SEEDY   GENTLEMAN 

Curiosity  still  rely  upon  the  alleged  weakness  of  their  sex 
and  think  Providence  is  too  much  of  a  gentleman 
to  be  uncivil  to  a  lady.  I  wonder  if  it  isn't  some 
thing  of  a  compliment  to  the  world  as  it  is  that 
they  do  think  so,  for  men  have  taught  them  that. 
Ah,  well !  Let  it  be  !  Let  curiosity  thrive  !  Maybe 
when  Lohengrin  went  away  Elsa  did  not  lose  very 
much.  You  can't  tell  about  those  heroes.  They 
look  well,  but  you  can't  always  have  comfort  and 
beauty  in  one  thing.  When  the  shoe  becomes 
easy  to  the  foot,  it  loses  that  graceful  shape  it  has 
in  the  shop  window.  It 's  the  fit  you  want,  after 
all,  and  everything  has  to  work  into  shape,  even 
to  the  perfect  mold.  And  there  are  so  few  of  us 
who  keep  the  curves  and  lines  of  the  ideal  when 
we  become  the  real.  The  moment  of  our  lives 
is  when  curiosity,  satisfied,  disappears  and  we 
must  draw  people  on  intrinsic  merit.  We  are 
queer  things,  we  men  and  women.  Sometimes  we 
grumble  because  things  are  not  what  we  thought 
they  were;  sometimes  because  they  are  what  we 
thought  they  were.  I  often  think  it  is  easier  to 
conceive  a  God  who  could  make  a  world  of  perfect 
beings,  than  a  God  who  could  have  made  such  a 
world  of  inexplicable  paradoxes  as  men  and 
women." 

The  last  words  died  away  as  the  Old  Man  fell 
into  a  gentle  slumber. 


246 


MAN,    GET    ON    TO    THYSELF 


"MAN,  GET    ON    TO    THYSELF" 

The  Happy  Fellow  floated  into  the  club  trying   Man,  get  on 
to  sing  the  sextet  from  "Lucia"  all  by  himself,    to  thyself 
Everybody  got  up  to  go  except  the  Seedy  Gentle 
man. 

"Don't  go !"  said  the  singer.     "I  '11  stop." 

"Let  him  sing !"  said  the  Old  Man,  from  his 
easy  chair.  "It's  better  to  let  him  sing  than 
talk." 

"You  don't  like  to  have  a  rival,"  retorted  the 
newcomer,  sitting  down.  "I  am  happy — and  I 
sing." 

"Yes,"  said  the  Seedy  Gentleman,  "a  happy  man 
is  generally  a  nuisance.  He  interferes  with  every 
body  else's  happiness.  I  never  could  see  why  a 
man  should  be  allowed  to  annoy  other  people  be 
cause  he  's  happy.  It  is  funny,  when  a  fellow  's 
like  that  he  always  makes  it  known  by  trying 
something  he  can't  do.  I  don't  know  anything 
better  calculated  to  make  a  neighborhood  misera 
ble  than  a  happy  being  whose  exuberance  of  self- 
content  comes  out  in  whistling  or  singing  or  play 
ing  the  piano.  Happiness  is  a  very  noisy  thing, 
and  the  world  would  be  infinitely  more  comforta 
ble  if  there  were  not  so  many  happy  people  in  it." 

"You  are  not  well  this  evening,"  remarked  the 
Fellow  in  the  Corner. 

249 


THE   SEEDY   GENTLEMAN 

Man,  get  on  "Indeed  I  feel  very  well.  But  the  airs  that 
to  thyself  honesty,  virtue,  and  happiness  put  on  in  this  queer 
world  of  ours  grow  annoying  sometimes.  They 
are  all  a  kind  of  conceit  at  best.  The  honest 
working  man,  who  gets  up  at  six  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  when  sensible  people  are  enjoying  their 
sweetest  slumber,  feels  so  conscious  of  his  own 
merits,  his  own  superiority,  despises  so  frankly 
the  sluggard  who  is  not  in  his  business,  that  he 
wakes  the  whole  neighborhood  by  singing  or 
whistling,  or  spouting  poetry  or  something  as  he 
dresses  himself.  Why?" 

"Isn't  there  one  of  those  old  maxims  that  says 
something  about  being  made  wise,  wealthy  and 
healthy  by  going  to  bed  early  and  rising  early?" 
asked  the  Fellow  in  the  Corner. 

"Those  confounded  old  proverbs!"  said  the 
Old  Man  impatiently.  "I  'm  sick  of  them.  They 
are  responsible  for  more  trouble  than  any  other 
influence  in  life.  They  are  the  authority  for  more 
foolishness  than  wise  conduct;  more  failures  than 
successes ;  more  discomfort  and  misery  than 
happiness.  The  honest  man — who  is  always  keep 
ing  his  honesty  in  evidence — thinks  he  has  privil 
eges.  Virtue — that  is  profoundly  aware  of  itself 
— is  not  satisfied  to  be  its  own  reward.  I  don't 
think  you  can  be  really  honest  or  virtuous,  if  you 
are  conscious  of  it." 

"How  are  you  to  know  anything  then?  You 
might  be  dishonest,  and  think  you  are  honest; 
250 


THE   SEEDY   GENTLEMAN 

vicious    and    think   you    are    virtuous,"    said    the    Man,  get  on 
Candid  Man.  to  thyself 

"A  great  many  are  in  that  fix,"  answered  the 
Old  Man.  "But  I  don't  care  about  that.  If  only 
the  honest  and  virtuous,  who  are  conscious  of 
their  perfection,  would  remain  satisfied  with  them 
selves,  and  not  bother  other  people,  it  would  be  all 
right.  All  good  people  believe  their  goodness 
relieves  them  of  any  obligation  to  consider  others. 
They  always  grow  impatient  of  anything  that 
interferes  with  their  thorough  enjoyment  of  their 
own  goodness.  I  don't  mind  the  ploughboy  or  the 
milkmaid  who  sings  out  in  the  field  in  the 
summer  day ;  but  when  it  comes  to  the  next  room 
and  you  want  to  sleep ;  or  the  same  room  when 
you  are  busy  thinking,  that's  a  nuisance,  just  as 
bad  as  the  organ-grinder  on  the  street — or  worse." 

"They  say  singing  lightens  labor,  old  cur 
mudgeon  !"  put  in  the  Happy  Fellow. 

"Some  kinds  of  singing,  maybe,  but  not  your 
kind.  Next  to  the  marvel  of  the  few  people  who 
sing  well,"  went  on  the  Seedy  Gentleman,  "the 
greatest  wonder  is  the  enormous  number  who  sing 
badly.  Well,  it 's  the  same  with  everything  else. 
What  this  generation  needs  is  to  understand  that 
it  is  not  a  congregation  of  'its.'  The  number  of 
people  who  are  constantly  trying  to  do  something 
they  never  were  made  for  grows  with  great 
rapidity.  That  old  chap  was  right  who  said,  'Man, 
get  on  to  thyself!'  This  earth  is  full  of  just  such 

251 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Man,  get  on  idiots  as  our  friend,  who  is  clever  in  everything 
to  thyself  except  what  he  thinks  he  can  do.  Here  is " 

"The  Oracle — yourself — for  instance,"  said  the 
Cynic. 

"Just  so — the  Oracle — who  has  been  forced  into 
philosophy  by  the  crowd  of  universal  genii.  What 
is  a  philosopher,  anyway?  Only  a  man  who  wants 
to  be  let  alone." 

"But  won't  let  other  people  alone." 

"Don't  you  know  that  there  are  millions  of  folks 
in  this  world  who  don't  want  to  be  let  alone? 
He  's  a  great  man  who  can  stand  being  let  alone. 
I  tell  you  the  trouble  we  have  with  modern  civili 
zation  is  the  inborn  desire  in  human  nature  to 
attract  attention.  That  is  what  is  mistaken  for 
patriotism,  for  unselfishness,  for  modesty,  for 
benevolence.  It  is  what  is  supposed  to  be  the 
divine  afflatus,  and  drives  people  on  the  stage  to 
be  actors  and  actresses  and  sopranos  and  tenors 
and  baritones  ;  to  write  plays  and  books ;  to  paint 
pictures  and  become  politicians ;  to  play  fiddles 
and  trombones  and  clarinets  and  oboes." 

"And  talk." 

"And  talk — nonsense,  if  that 's  all  you  can  talk. 
I  don't  believe  that  in  this  country  there  is  a  man 
or  a  boy  who  does  not  suppose  himself  to  be  a 
somebody  in  some  kind  of  society.  And  we  know 
society  is  really  all  the  nobodies.  We  begin  it  as 
children.  The  boy  is  father  to  the  man,  the  girl 
is  mother  to  the  woman.  The  early  girl  annoys 
her  mother's  callers  by  forcing  her  new  frock  on 
252 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

their  attention.  The  small  boy  begins  his  artless  Man,  get  on 
vanity  by  showing  his  new  boots  to  everybody  he  to  thyself 
knows.  As  they  grow  up  they  only  learn  more 
the  art  of  concealment  of  motive,  and  so  we  all 
become  crazy  for  attention.  In  society  they  get 
up  parties  simply  to  enable  everybody  to  appear  to 
be  somebody.  In  business  men  try  to  be  smart, 
just  to  be  noticeable.  Why  have  we  so  many 
lawyers?  Because  men  like  to  bully  witnesses, 
taffy  juries  and  harangue  Judges.  Why  have  we 
so  many  doctors?  Because  they  inspire  so  much 
awe  in  the  community.  And  as  for  actors  and 
actresses — it  just  drives  girls  crazy  with  envy 
when  they  see  an  actress  come  out  before  thou 
sands  of  people,  dressed  in  beautiful  clothes;  and 
most  men  would  not  object  to  be  a  matinee  idol. 
Oh,  they  pretend  they  would  but  that's  because 
they  have  to  find  other  ways  of  attracting  atten 
tion.  Yes,  he's  but  a  poor-spirited  fellow  who 
can't  attract  some  attention.  But  there  's  a  defic 
iency  in  the  scheme  of  nature  at  present.  Only 
about  one  in  a  hundred  thousand  is  in  the  business 
he  was  intended  for." 

"Can  philosophy  suggest  anything  in  the  way 
of  improvement?"  asked  the  Practical  Man. 

"Oh,  certainly.  If  there  were  only  some  ar 
rangement  made  so  that  when  we  are  born  our 
parents  could  tell  what  to  do  with  us.  Suppose 
we  were  all  born  with  a  stamp — 'This  chap  is  to 
be  a  tailor.'  'This  girl  is  to  be  a  prima  donna,' 
or  a  'typewriter,'  or  'a  flirt.'  Well,  they  might 

253 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Man,  get  on  put  that  last  legend  on  any  female  child  that  is 
to  thyself  ever  born  to  trouble  men.  'This  boy  is  to  be  a 
baseball  player — or  an  Irish  comedian — or  a  suc 
cessful  business  man.' " 

"Or  a  Universal  Genius." 

"He  would  be  stamped,  'almost,  not  quite,  any 
thing.'  What  a  lot  of  money  would  be  spared  in 
our  education,  and  what  a  lot  of  bother  would 
be  saved  in  families !  What  pain  humanity  would 
be  spared  from  the  disappointment  in  ambitions !" 

"There  would  be  a  great  changing  around  from 
the  present  conditions." 

"Yes.  I  don't  think  there  would  be  more  than 
three  or  four  people  now  on  the  stage  who  would 
not  have  been  recommended  to  some  other  calling. 
And  the  whole  thing  would  be  turned  round. 
Some  good  business  men  would  be  playing  low 
comedy  parts;  some  store  girls  would  be  making 
fortunes  starring;  some  ministers  would  be  play 
ing  in  farce  comedy;  lawyers  would  be  doing 
song  and  dance ;  undertakers  would  be  making 
hits  in  comic  opera ;  college  professors  would  be 
getting  a  hundred  dollars  a  week  as  acrobats ; 
doctors  would  be  sawing  fiddles  instead  of 
bones ;  bankers  would  be  singing  topical 
songs ;  the  whole  face  of  art  would  be 
changed — and  even  woman's  rights  lecturers 
would  be  doing  burlesque  in  short  skirts 
and  black  silk  stockings.  But  alas !  we  cannot 
change  it  to  suit  us.  And  so  we  must 
grope  along  through  life,  full  of  desires 

254 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

we  cannot  accomplish,  ambitions  that  won't  Man,  get  on 
work,  making  our  living  at  something  that  to  thyself 
wearies  and  bores  us,  because  we  can't 
get  any  acknowledgment  or  appreciation  for  what 
we  want  to  do,  what  we  know  so  well  we  could 
do,  if  we  could  only  get  other  people  to  believe  it 
— and  pay  us  for  it.  And,"  said  the  Seedy  Gen 
tleman,  getting  up,  with  a  deep  sigh,  "the  worst 
of  this  confounded  unequal  state  of  existence  is 
that  the  people  who  most  enjoy  working  don't 
need  to  work,  and  those  who  best  enjoy  doing 
nothing  have  to  toil  for  a  living.  It 's  disgusting ! 
Good  night!" 


255 


THE  OLD  LIFE  AND  THE  NEW 


ABOUT  THE  OLD  LIFE  AND  THE  NEW 

"Ah  me !"  said  the  Seedy  Gentleman,  sighing.  Old  Life 
"Let  us  sit  upon  the  ground  and  tell  sad  stories  and  New 
of  the  death  of  Queens." 

"Isn't  it  Kings?" 

"The  same  thing.  I  was  thinking  of  Mary 
Stuart  and  Marie  Antoinette.  We  have  had  them 
both  on  the  stage.  What  a  miserable  record  of 
crime  and  brutality  the  history  of  this  world  is, 
anyway!  Back  as  far  as  you  go,  how  little  it 
seems  to  have  to  say  of  good !  It  is  the  animal  in 
us,  as  it  has  been  in  all  time,  that  makes  the 
bloody  battle,  the  massacre,  the  splendid  criminal 
ity,  always  the  most  picturesque  and  fascinating." 

"I  don't  know.  They  cry  over  Mary  Stuart; 
they  cry  over  Marie  Antoinette,"  said  the  Senti 
mental  Man. 

"It  is  a  strange  vein  of  natural  hypocrisy  we 
have,  that  makes  us  feel  the  sadness  of  some 
things.  If  that  audience  were  sitting  by  when 
Mary  Stuart  was  really  being  led  to  the  block,  I 
doubt  if  they'd  even  cry  as  much.  At  all  events, 
they'd  let  her  go.  Gentlemen,  upon  my  word,  I 
cannot  see  how  men  at  any  time  could  ever  feel 
proud  of  themselves.  In  the  old  days " 

"They  were  savages  then,  more  or  less,  you 
know,"  said  the  Fellow  in  the  Corner. 

259 


THE   SEEDY   GENTLEMAN 

Old  Life       "Ay,  say  you  so?"  said  the  Old  Fellow,  raising 
and  New   himself  from  the  chair.     "We  are  the  higher  de 
velopment,  aren't  we?     How  barbaric  all  the  old 
wars,  the  old  revolutions,  seem  to  be,  don't  they? 
Oh,  how  much  better  we  are  now,  aren't  we?" 

"You  needn't  sneer." 

"Gentlemen,  will  you  allow  me  to  register  my 
opinion  that  the  old  ages  were  far  less  reprehen 
sible  than  our  own." 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  that  intelligence  was 
higher  then?" 

"No,  precisely,  there  lies  the  merit  of  the  past. 
They  were  honest  animals,  those  old  savages. 
They  fought  because  it  was  their  nature  to.  They 
conquered  one  another,  and  killed  one  another, 
and  brutally  treated  the  captured;  they  were 
brutes,  and  honestly  brutal.  We — we  have  risen 
in  the  scale.  We  have  educated  ourselves,  and  go 
about  preaching  about  sins  and  crimes,  and  virtue 
and  goodness  and  all  sorts  of  elevating  things. 
We  go  to  church;  we  pray;  we  know  evil  from 
good ;  we  boast  of  knowing  evil  from  good.  Yet 
every  vice  and  crime,  national  or  social,  that 
ever  existed,  is  as  rank  today  as  it  ever  was ;  and, 
much  as  we  argue,  all  the  more  vicious  and  crim 
inal  for  our  higher  development." 

"Oh,  there  are  some  redeeming  conditions." 

"There  is  no  redemption.  Never  a  crime,  a 
sin,  a  mistake,  a  wrong  that  does  not  pay  its  pen 
alty,  even  if  we  cannot  see  it." 

"About  good?" 

260 


THE   SEEDY   GENTLEMAN 

"I  believe  that  no  good  action  has  not  its  re-    Old  Life 
ward,  somehow  or  other.     We  are  so  worldly,  so    and  New 
purely  commercial,  we  keep  books  with  our  dear 
est  friends,  our  worst  enemies;  and  we  look  for 
something  that  is  payment  to  balance." 

"Never  mind  that;  you  don't  mean  to  say  that 
we  are  not  better  than  the  old  world  was?"  re 
marked  the  Candid  Man. 

"Maybe,  maybe !  But  I  wonder  how  much  of 
the  amelioration  of  conditions  in  this  age  has 
come  from  our  own  efforts.  I  wonder  if,  after  all, 
it  is  really  amelioration.  It  looks  so,  I  know ;  but 
I  don't  believe  the  rich  are  any  more  lenient  to 
the  poor;  the  poor  any  better  off  than  they  used 
to  be.  There  is  so  much  that  looks  like  progress 
that  isn't ;  so  much  that  looks  like  improvement 
that  isn't.  There  was  so  much  that  looked  like 
barbarism  that  wasn't ;  so  much  that  looked  like 
brutality  that  wasn't.  Oh,  we  have  improved 
many  things.  The  old  savages  beat  one  another 
to  death  with  clubs ;  they  mangled  their  enemies 
with  spears.  We  go  to  war  with  rifles  and  kill 
our  foes  with  bullets  that  only  make  little  holes. 
It  is  a  little  cleaner,  a  little  less  painful  to  the 
eye  and  the  imagination.  But  is  it  improvement?" 

"Oh,  there's  always  got  to  be  fighting." 

"Let  us  own  it.  Oh,  yes !  We  have  plausible 
reasons  for  killing.  Diplomacy  covers  things  up 
more  than  it  did  when  the  king  and  the  whole 
nation  marched  into  the  neighbor's  country,  and 
wiped  it  out  for  some  maybe  trivial,  but  at  least 
261 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Old  Life  just  as  well  defined,  offense.  But  we  aren't  much 
and  New  better.  Yes,  I  know  it  has  to  be ;  but  for  heaven's 
sake,  let  us  speak  low  about  our  high-strung  civ 
ilization,  while  there  must  be  such  a  thing  as 
war.  Ye  gods !  what  a  spectacle  this  world  must 
be  to  one  who  looks  from  above !  The  paean  of 
self-glorification,  the  boast  of  sentiments  almost 
divine,  the  claim  of  righteousness,  the  conceit  of 
our  superior  knowledge,  the  constant  proclama 
tion  of  all  our  virtues — and  throughout  the  world 
such  misery  as  never  was,  misery  of  heart,  of 
soul,  of  body;  such  crime  as,  in  some  points, 
makes  the  old  world  pale;  and  everywhere  the 
ready  bullet  to  defend  what  we  call  honor.  What 
is  our  amendment  on  the  past?  We  only  do 
things  differently,  that's  all." 

"You  're  pessimistic  this  evening,"  said  the 
Fellow  in  the  Corner. 

"No,  no!  I  know  this  is  a  world  of  men,  and, 
since  men  were,  the  arbitrament  of  the  struggle 
has  been  life  or  death.  It  will  be  so.  But  we  be 
gan  about  Marie  Antoinette  and  Mary  Stuart. 
We  cry  over  them  and  we  think  it  is  our  real 
goodness  of  heart  that  offers  up  the  sympathy." 

"Well,  isn't  it?  You  must  be  good-hearted  to 
cry  over  anybody's  sufferings,"  said  the  Practical 
Man. 

"Not  a  bit  of  it.  Sympathy,  gentlemen,  is  an 
emotion  we  enjoy  giving  to  others.  It  will  some 
times  tempt  us  to  do  something  for  somebody, 
but  you  may  have  no  heart  at  all  and  yet  be  full 
262 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

of  sympathy — of  some  kind.    I've  known  a  real    Old  Life 
estate   owner   who   had   just   evicted   some   poor   and  New 
devil  of  a  man  with  his  family  for  a  few  dol 
lars'  rent,  grow  very  sympathetic  with  some  other 
poor   devil   evicted   for  the  same  reason  by  an 
other  rich  man." 

"You're  worse  than  pessimistic." 

"No;  don't  misunderstand  me.  There  are  peo 
ple  of  genuine  heart  in  the  world.  There  is  sym 
pathy  that  comes  spontaneously  and  irresistibly; 
but  it's  not  all  like  that.  The  hardest-hearted 
wretches  cry  over  a  sentimental  play.  It  makes 
them  feel  good,  and  they  go  away  from  the  the 
atre  thinking  that  it  condones  all  their  hard- 
heartedness  of  real  life.  My  friend,  like  every 
thing  else,  sympathy  is  often  a  mask." 

"Oh,  we  know  that." 

"Of  course  you  know  it.  Well,  well !  If  it 
gives  pleasure  to  give  sympathy,  so  much  the 
more  we  may  credit  to  our  human  nature.  There 
are  some  things  in  which  honesty  is  cruelty.  We 
must  pretend  sometimes,  and  hypocrisy  has  its 
uses  and  its  value  for  good  as  well  as  evil.  How 
much  happiness  has  the  hypocrite  given,  after  all ! 
If  people  were  less  hypocritical  I  think  there 
would  be  fights  all  the  time." 

"What  does  that  mean?" 

"It  means  that  if  we  did  not  conceal  our  real 
opinion  of  one  another,  we'd  hit  one  another  on 
the  nose  every  few  minutes." 

"Oh,  we  don't  think  each  other  perfect." 
263 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Old  Life  "No;  but  it's  a  rare  chap  who  can  bear  to  be 
and  New  told  of  his  faults.  That  elastic  code  that  declares 
a  man  must  defend  his  honor  compels  resent 
ment  of  honest  opinion.  What  is  honor,  any 
way?" 

"It's  one  of  those  moral  elements  which  God 
implanted  in  us  to  keep  us  straight." 

"It's  a  kind  of  moral  spine — very  sensitive  and 
easily  wounded,  but  not  always  easily  reached. 
Ah,  we  have  different  ideas  of  honor,  and  it  de 
pends  whether  you're  looking  from  the  inside  or 
tHe  out.  I  think  true  honor  is  the  sense  of  jus 
tice.  But  we  are  wandering  all  around  the  cir 
cle.  Let  us  come  back  for  a  minute  to  the 
Queens." 

"Of  course,  it's  always  sadder  to  see  women  led 
to  the  block." 

"There's  something  in  that.  And  yet  why 
should  it  be  sadder  in  a  Queen  than  anybody 
else?  Is  it  that  she  seems  to  give  up  so  much 
more  than  an  ordinary  woman?  The  splendor  of 
her  throne,  the  power,  the  place  high  up  before 
the  world,  the  rich  enjoyments  that  life  has  for 
her?  Maybe.  Do  what  we  will,  rank,  station, 
luxury,  draw  the  envy  and  the  admiration  of  all 
mankind.  What  does  the  poor  man  or  the  poor 
woman  seem  to  leave  when  death  comes  ?  A 
barely  furnished  house,  a  struggle  for  bread,  a 
ceaseless  anxiety  over  children.  It  does  not 
seem  so  much.  Yet,  if  we  come  down  to  it,  the 
only  pain  that  Marie  Antoinette  knew  was  just 
264 


THE   SEEDY   GENTLEMAN 

what  every  woman  of  the  people  would  know —    Old  Life 
the   pain   of   leaving   her   children.     So    it   is    as    and  New 
things  look,  not  as  they  are,  we  weep  or  laugh. 
Envy    is    always    wasted,    for    the    man    who    is 
envied  envies  somebody  else.     And  what  woman 
would  have  been   Mary  Stuart  when  her  lovers 
knelt  around  her,  had  she  known  the  end?     After 
all  is  said,  we  are  just  the  same  old  men  and 
women,  and  we  shall  be  until— we  are  turned  into 
something  else.     My  respects  to  you !" 

The   Seedy  Gentleman  finished  off  his   toddy, 
buttoned  up  his  coat  and  strode  out. 


265 


HEARTSEASE 


ABOUT  HEARTSEASE 

They  found  the  Seedy  Gentleman  lying  back  in  Heartsease 
his  easy  chair  in  the  dark  of  the  bay  window, 
with  closed  eyes.  He  wore  a  tweed  suit  and 
yellow  shoes.  His  face  was  browned  by  the  sun, 
and  the  country  air  seemed  still  to  hover  about 
him. 

"Hello,  Old  Man!"  they  cried.  "Back  again?" 

"Eh !"  he  said,  sitting  up  and  rubbing  his  eyes. 

"Come  !    It  isn't  bedtime  yet.    Wake  up  !" 

"My  dear  friend,  you  forget  I'm  not  accus 
tomed  to  these  late  hours.  For  two  weeks  I  have 
been  leading  an  eminently  reputable  life.  The 
rake  in  town  sows  the  wild  oats;  the  only  rake 
they  know  in  the  country  they  use  to  gather  them 
up." 

"Wild  oats  are  sown  in  the  night  and  reaped 
by  day,"  said  the  Cynic. 

"I  shouldn't  wonder.  Why  did  you  disturb 
me?  I  was  dreaming.  My  ears  were  filled  with 
the  stillness  of  the  woods  and  the  mountains ; 
the  moon  was  rising  over  the  black  purple  hill, 
broken  into  a  hundred  fantastic  brilliancies  by  the 
foliage  of  the  trees ;  rest  was  everywhere." 

"He's  poetic  tonight.  We  must  take  him  to 
'Heartsease,' "  remarked  the  Fellow  in  the 
Corner. 

269 


THE   SEEDY   GENTLEMAN 

Heartsease       "Heartsease  !    What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"The  play." 

"Play?  Oh,  yes;  I  had  forgotten.  They  have 
those  things  on  the  stage  here  yet  No,  I  don't 
know  that  I  care  for  stage  heartsease.  Ah !"  said 
the  Old  Man,  very  sentimentally,  "I  have  had 
heartsease.  I've  been  with  Nature,  There  is 
heartsease,  if  it  be  anywhere," 

"Dear,  dear !"  said  one,  ringing  the  bell. 
"Bring  him  a  toddy.  Let  him  take  that  to  his 
heart  and  maybe  he'll  find  rest." 

"I  don't  want  any  toddy,"  said  the  Old  Man. 
"I  don't  need  any  toddy.  I  know  you.  You 
could  not  sit  out  in  the  moonlight  without  a  bot 
tle  !  You  're  capable  of  pulling  out  a  flask  from 
your  pocket  and  drinking  whisky  with  the  sun 
setting  over  the  wooded  mountain  and  the  bare 
hills  golden  all  about  you." 

"Well,  why  not?" 

"You  're  not  a  soul.     You  're  a  palate." 

"Don't  stir  him  up!  He's  always  like  that 
when  he  comes  back  from  the  country." 

"Heartsease !"  the  Old  Man  went  on.  "It  does 
not  grow  where  men  and  women  are  struggling 
after  some  vague,  elusive  idea  of  happiness.  It  is 
only  out  there,"  and  he  pointed  vaguely  to  the 
horizon.  "It  is  out  there,  with  nature,  with  the 
streams  and  the  trees  and  the  hills;  the  spiders 
and  the  bees  and  the  squirrels.  It  is  with  nature 
— if  it  be  anywhere.  Yes,  I  suppose  nature  has 
its  pain  and  its  trouble  but  it  sets  us  an  exam- 
270 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

pie.     It   does  not   show  them.    It   does  not  ask   Heartsease 
for  sympathy.     It  simply  kind  of  opens  its  arms 
to   you,   takes   you   to   its   heart   and   gives   you 
rest." 

"And  then  comes  the  hotel  bill,"  put  in  the 
Practical  Man. 

"Eternally  the  groveling  spirit  of  money. 
Money  does  not  buy  anything  worth  having,  un 
less  it  be  spent  in  charity." 

"But  you  can't  go  into  the  country  without  it, 
just  the  same." 

"The  man  with  a  million  can  buy  no  more 
brilliant  moonlight,  no  richer  sunset,  than  I  can. 
The  fellow  with  the  gold  bags  can  tickle  his  pal 
ate  with  something  that  is  unhealthy.  I  only 
envy  the  wealthy  man  because  he  does  not  need 
to  labor  for  money  to  feed  himself,  and  he  has 
freedom  to  go  and  enjoy  the  beauty  of  the 
world.  And  so  few  of  them  do,  that  I  don't  envy 
them  anyway.  Did  you  ever  notice  a  millionaire 
at  the  springs?  He's  always  there  for  his  health. 
His  money  can't  buy  that;  and  all  else  is  lost 
upon  him.  He  has  no  use  for  the  beauty  of 
nature." 

"Oh !  They  're  not  all  like  that,"  said  the  Can 
did  Man. 

"No,  no  1  I  know  it.  But  there  is  only  one 
thing  a  man  can  never  hide  from  the  people — 
that  he  has  money." 

"Look  at  the  misers !" 

"My  dear  friend,  meanness  is  more  a  sign  of 
271 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Heartsease  wealth  than  generosity.  But  let  that  pass !  We 
were  talking  of  heartsease.  Is  there  such  a 
thing?  I  think  sometime,  somewhere,  in  the  his 
tory  of  the  world,  there  really  was  a  life  of 
heartsease.  You  know  you  find  little  traces  of 
past  ages  that  suggest  whole  histories  to  people  of 
imagination.  And  so,  when  you  go  into  the 
country,  you  seem  to  see  proofs  that  all  the 
troubles  of  life  come  from  ourselves.  It  seems 
so  easy  to  be  happy  there.  If  we  didn't  get  so 
tired  of  everything;  so  wretchedly  dissatisfied 
with  everything !  There's  something  wrong  with 
the  town;  something  wrong  with  everything  that 
man  has  anything  to  do  with." 
"What  about  the  'man  with  the  hoe?'" 
"Oh,  that  is  merely  the  fancy  of  an  artist.  Who 
can  go  through  the  country,  look  at  the  rich  yel 
low  hayricks,  the  vineyards,  the  fruit-laden  trees 
broken  down  with  the  weight  of  their  bearings, 
the  sunshine,  the  landscape  and  think  that  the 
labor  of  tilling  the  soil  can  crush  the  hope,  life, 
spirit  out  of  anybody?  It  is  mere  fantasy.  If 
the  toil  in  the  fields,  with  the  birds  singing,  the 
wild  flowers  growing,  the  stream  murmuring,  the 
bees  humming  all  about  you,  be  an  instrument  of 
degeneration,  what  can  we  expect  from  the  man 
in  the  cellar  in  the  city  all  day  long,  hauling  dirty 
boxes  and  casks,  shut  out  from  the  light  of  the 
sun,  and  saturated  with  the  smell  of  mold?  What 
of  the  man  poring  hour  after  hour  over  long  col 
umns  of  figures,  and  wearing  his  brain  with  cold 
272 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

cruel  calculation?     No — these  last  are  the  degen-    Heartsease 

crating  toils,  not  the  labor  of  the  man  with  the 

hoe." 

"But  the  mind — they  don't  cultivate  that." 

"Do  you?  Does  the  man  with  the  hod?  You 
read  the  papers,  and  a  book  now  and  again,  and 
you  know  so  much.  I  don't  know  that  the  man 
in  the  country  is  ignorant  altogether.  He  does 
not  know,  perhaps,  all  the  theories  and  specula 
tions  that  entertain  you  and  fill  your  brain.  But 
— well — the  sum  of  human  happiness  is  made  up 
principally  of  what  we  don't  know,  only  believe, 
and  the  rest  is — to  help  us  to  make  money  for  the 
most  part.  And,  I  don't  know  that  on  all  im 
portant  questions,  really  affecting  human  happi 
ness,  the  man  in  the  country  is  not  a  better 
authority  than  you." 

"Well,  they  live  a  life  of  content,  perhaps, 
there." 

"No,  I  don't  know  that  they  do.  They  are  not 
content.  It  is  the  town  people  who  are  content 
for  a  little  in  the  country.  Nobody  is  content 
anyway  for  more  than  a  few  minutes.  But  yet 
we  see  that  people  can  be  restful  when  they  are 
taken  away  from  the  struggle  for  riches." 

"Nobody  can  be  satisfied  when  he  has  to  fight 
for  a  living,"  said  the  Practical  Man. 

"Yes,  he  may  be  satisfied ;  but  never  content. 
But — well — I'm  sleepy,"  said  the  Old  Man,  yawn 
ing.  "I  fancy  that  heartsease  has  disappeared, 
somehow,  from  the  world.  I  don't  know  how  it 

273 


THE   SEEDY   GENTLEMAN 

Heartsease  used  to  be.  I  seemed  to  imagine  when  I  sat 
watching  the  stars  out  there,  where  you  can  see 
them,  that  nothing  had  changed  on  the  face  of  the 
earth,  nor  in  the  heavens  above,  but  men  and 
women.  And  somehow  I  fancied  that  in  the 
country  people  fitted  so  much  better  into  the 
scheme  of  creation  than  they  did  in  the  town. 
They  were  different.  They  fell  into  line  with  all 
the  other  animals,  all  because,  face  to  face  with 
the  infinite  beauty  of  nature,  reason  seemed  to 
be  silenced  and  only  acceptation,  enjoyment,  faith, 
remained.  Looking  at  the  sunset,  who  can  rea 
son  on  its  composition  or  its  temperature?  What 
does  it  matter  how  old,  how  dead,  how  cold  the 
moon  is,  when  it  swings  up  from  the  horizon,  and 
floods  the  whole  earth  below  it  with  a  dazzling 
light?  And  in  the  country,  even  city  people  seem 
to  be  different,  maybe  less,  maybe  more,  really 
themselves.  Mean  people  become  generous ;  bad- 
tempered  people  become  kindly ;  stupid  people  be 
come  entertaining;  coarse  people  become  gentle. 
Human  nature  is  full  of  good  qualities,  and  the 
best  of  us  comes  out  in  the  country.  We  are  all 
thoughtful,  considerate,  sympathetic  when  we  go 
into  the  summer  woods  or  down  to  the  summer 
sea.  Steeped  in  the  beauty  of  nature,  we  cannot 
be  otherwise;  we  must  love  one  another." 

"I  thought  he'd  come  to  that." 

"Ah,  well !  Never  mind.  If  it  only  lasts  for 
a  minute,  heartsease  comes  to  us  there — the  only 
heartsease  we  can  know,  for  it  is  God's  will  that 
274 


THE  SEEDY   GENTLEMAN 

the  dearer  the  one  to  whom  we  are  dear,  the  Heartsease 
deeper  the  pain  if  trouble  comes  to  either.  And 
trouble  comes  to  all  we  love.  And  no  one  else 
can  give  us  perfect  heartsease.  Yearning,  longing, 
sympathizing,  loving,  suffering,  make  happiness 
and  unhappiness — the  two  extremes  of  the  move 
ment  of  the  pendulum  which  beats  the  time  of  life, 
and  only  stops  when  there  is  no  more  need  for 
heartsease." 

The  Old  Gentleman  rose  lazily,  and  waved  them 
an  adieu  as  he  walked  sleepily  out. 


275 


THE  LOVE   STORY  OF  A   SCOT 


THE  LOVE   STORY  OF  A   SCOT 

"No,"    said    the    Seedy    Gentleman,    discussing    Love  Story 
the  Barrie  play,  'The  Professor's  Love  Story/  as    of  a  Scot 
he  stretched  himself  back  in  his  easy  chair,  "I 
don't  believe  much  in  this  idea  of  a  man  going 
through  two-thirds  of  his  life  without  a  love  dis 
turbance." 

"Oh,  I  suppose,"  put  in  the  Fellow  in  the  Cor 
ner,  "we  all  have  it  in  boyhood,  if  not  later." 

"I  speak  of  later,"  said  the  Old  Fellow,  emphati 
cally.  "There's  a  kind  of  attraction  of  oddity 
about  the  old  bachelors  who  have  been  supposed 
to  have  given  up  love  for  lore ;  who  pass  women 
by  unnoticed,  even  beautiful  women,  with  shapely 
figures,  small  feet  and  dainty  ankles.  But  that 
kind  of  chap  does  not  exist." 

"Aren't  you  judging  others  by  yourself?"  asked 
the  Candid  Man. 

"I  suppose  to  some  extent  I  am.  I  have  myself 
been  set  down  as  a  woman-hater,  and  that  may 
have  influenced  my  judgment  of  other  people. 
But  I  wouldn't  mind  wagering  that  you  can't 
find  a  man  in  the  world  who  has  not  had  some 
love  story — and  not  only  late  in  life.  Most  men 
keep  their  real  love  stories  to  themselves.  That 
chap  going  along  the  street  there  so  affectionately 
with  that  girl !"  The  Seedy  Gentleman  pointed 
279 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Love  Story  to  a  couple  passing  under  the  electric  light  out- 
of  a  Scot  side. 

"Oh,  anybody  can  see  that's  a  love  story,"  said 
the  Fellow  in  the  Corner. 

"I  wonder  if  it  is  ?"  mused  the  Old  Man.  "I  am 
free  to  confess,"  he  went  on,  after  a  pause,  "that 
there  is  something  a  trifle  sad,  like  a  wasted  life, 
in  an  old  gray-headed  bachelor." 

"Ahem !"  came  in  a  cough  from  the  little  group. 

"I  mean  any  other  gray-headed  bachelor.  We 
ourselves  are  always  different.  He  looks  lonely; 
we  don't.  We  know  we  could,  an'  if  we  would; 
but  we  see  the  other  fellow  wandering  about  look 
ing  longingly,  as  if  for  something  he  has  lost. 
We  know  it  is  too  late  for  him.  It  is  never  too 
late  for  us.  But  don't  tell  me  he  has  never  had  a 
love  story !" 

"He  may  have  had  a  romance.  He  may  have 
loved  and  lost  or  something  like  that,  and  never 
got  over  it,"  said  the  Fellow  in  the  Corner. 

"Between  you  and  me,"  replied  the  Old  Chap, 
"I  suppose  one  may  love  and  lose,  but  I  don't 
think  that  ever  kept  a  man  single  or  drove  him 
into  solitude.  I  know  it  is  very  pretty  in  novels, 
and  very  charming  in  a  romantic  imagination;  but 
you  '11  find  there  is  some  other  reason  for  his 
single  blessedness,  and  his  indifference  to  other 
women — if  he  is  indifferent.  Most  of  the  time  he 
is  afraid  of  something;  and  his  gloomy  sadness 
over  the  one  he  has  lost  has  in  it  an  enjoyable 
280 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

sense  of  escape  from  something  that  might  have    'Love  Story 
been  worse  for  him."  of  a  Scot 

"You  are  knocking  the  sentiment  out  of  things 
tonight,  aren't  you?"  remarked  the  Candid  Man. 

"But  then  the  professor  was  a  Scot,  and  Scots 
are  different  in  that  kind  of  thing,"  went  on  the 
Seedy  Gentleman,  not  noticing  the  interruption. 

"What's  the  difference  ?"  asked  the  Fellow  in  the 
Corner. 

"Well,"  he  answered,  "there 's  much  more  sense 
in  Scottish  love  affairs.  In  fact,  there  's  too  much 
sense  sometimes.  I  don't  suppose  there  is  any 
love  deeper  or  truer  than  the  Scottish,  but  there 
is  a  notable  lack  of  impulse  in  that  curious  nation. 
The  Scot  never  likes  to  repent  too  late.  If  there  's 
going  to  be  repentance,  he  wants  it  to  be  before 
marriage,  not  after.  I  mind  me  of  the  Scottish 
lad  proposing  to  the  Scottish  lass : 

'"Will  ye  hae  me,  Jean?' 

"'I  will  that,  Jock.' 

'"Are  ye  quite  sure,  lassie?  Nae  changin'  o' 
your  mind  aboot  me  after  we're  married?' 

"  'If  I  dae  change  ma  mind,  Jock,  ye  '11  never 
ken.' " 

"Is  that  love?"  asked  the  Candid  Man. 

"I  think  that  is  real  love,  true  love,  love  that  is 
likely  to  last,  because  it  disposes  in  advance  of  all 
possible  trouble.  Those  old  men  like  Barrie's 
Professor,  although  he  is  not  old,  who  live  to  age 
in  celibacy,  are  not  single  because  they  have  had 
no  love  affairs.  They  have  carefully  canvassed 
281 


THE   SEEDY   GENTLEMAN 

Love  Story   the  situation  before,  perhaps  many  times,  and  de- 

of  a  Scot   cided  that  marriage  is  not  sure  enough  to  bring 

them  comfort.    They  may  get  tangled  up  later, 

but  they  are  pretty  well  satisfied  that  the  woman 

is  all  right  before  they  ask  her." 

"Yet  Robert  Burns  has  written  the  love  poetry 
of  the  world,"  said  the  Candid  Man. 

"My  dear  friend,  he  has  written  love  poetry,  and 
the  best  of  it  is  purely  Scottish.  Did  it  ever  occur 
to  you  that  the  trouble  with  us  is  that  we  mix  up 
love  and  poetry?  There  may  be  poetry  in  love; 
but — it  just  occurs  to  me  that  there  has  been 
mighty  little  poetry  written  about  marriage.  Be 
sides,  poets  write  for  other  people  to  read  and 
quote.  In  women's  poetry,  you  always  feel  it  is 
the  same  man,  but  men  poets  write  about  all  kinds 
of  girls.  Some  one  or  two  have  composed  vol 
umes  all  inspired  by  one  woman;  but  the  general 
love  poet  writes  indiscriminately  of  blondes  and 
brunettes,  girls  with  blue  eyes,  violet,  black,  all 
sorts  of  color;  he  writes  of  all  sorts  of  things  he 
would  do  for  the  woman  he  loves.  It  just  occurs 
to  me  that  he  has  not  often  done  them.  If  he  ever 
has,  he  has  done  them  for  the  wrong  woman. 
The  Scottish  people  understand  quite  clearly  that 
while  love  may  inspire  poetry,  and  poetry  may 
inspire  love,  love  is  not  all  poetry,  nor  love  poetry 
all  love.  While  Robert  Burns,  in  his  more  senti 
mental  moments,  may  do  for  wooing  and  for  in 
spiring  a  tender  sentiment,  there  is  a  purely  practi 
cal  element  in  the  case  which  he  has  thoroughly 
282 


THE   SEEDY   GENTLEMAN 

expressed,  and  which  no  Scottish  lad  or  Scottish    Love  Story 
lassie  for  a  moment  overlooks."  of  a  Scot 

"The  Scotsman  always  wants  to  have  an  'un 
derstanding,'  "  said  the  Fellow  in  the  Corner. 

"A  good  deal  in  that,"  replied  the  Old  Fellow. 
"And  it  saves  a  lot  of  trouble.  'An'  for  bonnie 
Annie  Laurie,  I  'd  lay  me  doon  an'  dee,' "  he 
quoted.  "A  beautiful  song,  a  beautiful  song ! 
But  I  can  fancy  Annie  Laurie  listening  on  Max- 
welton  braes  to  her  lover  singing  that  song  to  her. 
And  when  he  had  finished  I  can  imagine  her  lift 
ing  her  bonnie  head  from  his  shoulder  and  say 
ing,  'Nae,  dinna  dae  that !  Gin  ye  were  deed  ye 
wid  be  o'  nae  use  to  me.' " 

"What  dreadfully  practical  persons  those  Scot 
tish  lasses  must  be,"  said  the  Candid  Man. 

"I  wonder  if  love-talk — the  love-talk  between 
lovers — ever  sounds  as  it  reads  in  books,  any 
way?"  continued  the  Old  Man.  "Ah,  well!  Per 
haps  the  world  would  be  happier  if  impulse  were 
less  in  love  and  reason  more.  I  think  true  love 
does  reason ;  perhaps  that  is  the  distinction  be 
tween  the  real  article  and  the  mere  emotional.  I 
fancy  love,  true  love,  is  not  blind ;  it  is  only  the 
spurious  love,  the  passion  that  carries  people  away, 
that  does  not  see." 

The  Seedy  Gentleman  grew  thoughtful,  as  he 
rose  to  go. 

"The  old  professors,"  he  went  on,  "like  Barrie's 
Goodwillie,  the  pawky  Scots  of  all  classes,  may 
seem  practical  and  unsentimental  to  impulsive  peo- 
283 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Love  Story  pie,  who  rush  into  love  and  bear  the  women  they 
of  a  Scot  marry  to  the  altar  with  orchestras  and  hacks  and 
organs  and  ushers  and  bridesmaids  and  flowers 
and  picturesque  display  of  feverish  happiness.  I 
daresay  in  that  effulgent  honeymoon  there  may  be 
condensed  a  delirious  joy.  It  may  be  that 
Scottish  lovers,  in  silence,  often  in  plain,  practi 
cal  expression  of  love,  may  seem  almost  ridicu 
lous  ;  but  love  is  not  a  mere  honeymoon ;  all  that 
is  best  of  it  has  to  survive  that  enthusiasm.  And 
I  think  the  greatest  love  song  of  all  is  'John  An 
derson,  My  Jo.'  Ah !  we  may  think  of  Annie 
Laurie  and  the  man  who  would  'lay  him  doon  an' 
dee'  for  her;  we  can  recall  all  the  gush  of  poet 
lovers,  and  how  they  love,  and  what  beautiful 
things  they  can  say  about  their  loves ;  when  we  are 
young  we  may  feel  all  that  exuberance,  and  re 
spond  to  it,  but  what  a  life  of  true  love  lies  in 
John  Anderson  and  his  guid  wife !  'We've  clamb 
the  hill  thegither;  Noo  we  maun  totter  doon 
John,  but  hand  in  hand  we'll  go;  An'  sleep  the 
gither  at  the  foot,  John  Anderson,  my  Jo.'  Some 
how  I  think  that  is  a  typical  Scottish  love  story." 


284 


THE    DEVIL 


THE  DEVIL  IS  SHOWN  HIS  OWN  IMAGE 

"Excuse  me !"  said  the  Seedy  Gentleman,  as  he    The  Devil 
slipped  off  the  chair  and  sat  down  on  the  floor. 

"Don't  mention  it,"  said  one  of  the  party,  and 
he  raised  the  Old  Man  up  and  put  him  back  on 
the  rocker.  "What 's  the  matter  ?" 

"Weakness  from  the  heat." 

They  smiled  a  pitying  smile.  The  Old  Man 
touched  the  bell  on  the  table. 

"Yes,  gentlemen,  weakness  from  the  heat.  I 
went  down  last  night  to  Hades." 

"You  've  started  that  old  racket,  have  you  ?" 
asked  the  Fellow  in  the  Corner. 

"Inihm !"  said  the  Old  Fellow,  waving  his  hand 
to  the  waiter.  "The  devil  and  I  have  been  having 
a  high  old  time." 

"The  devil?" 

"Yes.  You  see,  I  haven't  been  over  the  Styx 
for  a  while  and  I  took  the  boat  last  night." 

"Old  Charon's  boat?"  queried  the  Sentimental 
Chap. 

"No ;  they  've  got  a  regular  ferry  service  now. 
Bless  you !  Charon's  superseded  long  ago.  He 
couldn't  handle  the  traffic.  The  modern  souls  are 
so  very  heavy  anyway;  most  of  them  go  over  as 
freight,"  and  the  Old  Fellow  smiled  a  wobbly 
smile. 

287 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

The  Devil       "But  how  did  you  come  to ?" 

"Oh,  I  intended  to  go  to  Elysium;  but  I  met  a 
man  who  was  going  the  other  way,  and  I  thought 
I  'd  just  go  down  with  him." 

"And  how  did  you  find  the  devil?"  inquired  the 
Fellow  in  the  Corner. 

"He 's  getting  feeble ;  he 's  tired  of  it  down 
there.  He  has  reformed,  and  wants  a  change.  I 
brought  him  up  with  me." 

"Brought  him  up  with  you  ?" 

"Yes.  I  said  to  him,"  said  the  Old  Man,  with  a 
wag  of  his  head,  and  a  growing  looseness  in  his 
speech,  "I  said  to  him,  'Come  up  with  me !  Come 
and  see  yourself !  You  can  have  a  picture 
of  yourself  in  the  opera  of  'Faust'  or  in  the  weird 
extravaganza  form." 

"What?"  he  asked  in  surprise. 

"My  dear  old  boy,"  I  said,  "you  've  the  most 
picturesque  and  fascinating  figure  you  could  imag 
ine,  and,  if  'Faust'  and  the  extravaganza  don't 
suit  you,  why,  Marie  Corelli  has  painted  your  sor 
rows  in  the  most  modern  style." 

"What  is  the  'Faust'  you  speak  of?  And  who 
has  turned  me  into  an  extravaganza?  And  who 
the  devil  puts  me  into  a  dress  coat?" 

"Come  and  see  yourself  in  grand  opera,"  I  re 
peated. 

"Do  they  make  me  sing?" 

"Certainly." 

"So  he  put  on  an  ulster  and  came  with  me.  I 
took  him  to  the  theatre  and  showed  him  Mephisto 
288 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

and  Faust  and  Marguerite  and  Martha.    We  got    The  Devil 
in  for  the  Garden  scene." 

"Am  I  that  good-looking  fellow  in  the  hand 
some  silk  dress  making  love  to  the  fine-looking 
woman?"  he  asked,  in  a  pleased  tone. 

"No.  That 's  you  in  red  looking  after  the  old 
woman." 

"What  do  they  take  me  for?"  he  blurted  out. 
"Do  they  suppose  I  'd  take  up  with  that  old  thing, 
when  there's  such  a  fine  woman  around?" 

"Oh,  you  've  made  a  compact  with  the  young 
fellow.  You  Ve  given  him  youth  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing,  and  you  're  to  get  his  soul  and  Mar 
guerite's,  don't  you  know?"  I  explained. 

"What  do  I  want  with  his  soul?  I  never  made 
a  compact  with  anybody.  I  don't  need  to.  I  get 
them  all  for  nothing,  and  more  than  I  can  handle. 
But  she  's  a  fine-looking  woman,  and  I  like  her." 

"But  you  don't  get  her." 

"Don't  I?  But  that  fellow  in  red.  What  is 
he?" 

"He's  a  basso." 

"A  basso?" 

"Oh,  yes.  You  're  always  a  basso  part.  No 
body  would  believe  it  was  the  devil  if  he  weren't 
a  basso." 

"What?"  broke  out  Lucifer,  in  a  rage.  "With 
a  voice  that  rumbles  all  round  like  that,  and  with 
such  a  Ha,  ha,  ha !  I  wish  you'd  tell  him  not  to 
do  that — and  not  to  ruin  my  self-respect  by  mak 
ing  love  to  the  old  woman.  It 's  not  like  me. 
289 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

The  Devil  Why  don't  they  make  me  a  tenor,  and  handsome, 
and  beautiful?  I  was  as  superb  an  angel  as  any 
of  them — and — if  you  have  any  influence  with  the 
management,  please  tell  them  to  get  that  fellow  to 
wash  those  black  eyebrows  off,  and  remove  that 
feather." 

"Oh,  if  you  want  to  get  a  real  good  view  of 
yourself,"  said  I,  "come. across  the  street!  You're 
much  more  devilish  there." 

"Stay  a  minute,"  he  said.  "Couldn't  I  play  the 
tenor  part  just  once  with  that  Marguerite?  It 
seems  to  me  I  've  given  that  fellow  a  good  deal 
for  his  soul.  Doesn't  she  really  come  to  me  after 
all?" 

"No.     She  goes  up,"  I  said. 

"That 's  always  the  way.  Let  us  go  across  the 
street !"  he  said,  and,  looking  back,  he  sighed ; 
"She 's  a  mighty  fine  woman." 

We  went  into  the  other  theatre. 

"Who  is  that?"  he  asked,  borrowing  my  opera- 
glasses  to  look  at  a  girl  in  male  attire,  with  very 
shapely  limbs. 

"That,"  said  I.  "That  is  a  being  you  have 
created  for  your  fell  purposes." 

"What  fell  purposes?  Why  do  they  always  ac 
cuse  me  of  fell  purposes?  I  am  an  unfortunate 
being  who  made  a  mistake  some  years  ago,  and 
tried  to  do  more  than  I  could.  I  was  ordered 
down  below,  and  ever  since  they  've  been  sending 
down  to  me  all  the  despicable,  miserable  souls  that 
have  inhabited  this  wretched  earth.  Isn't  it  pun- 
290 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

ishment  enough  to  have  to  stand  them  and  keep    The  Devil 
them  in  order?    I  don't  want  them." 

"That's  just  it.  In  this  piece  you're  locking 
after  a  pure  soul,"  I  remarked. 

"A  pure  soul !  How  could  I  ever  expect  to  get 
a  pure  soul?  But  you  say  I  created  that?  Well, 
the  shape  is  creditable,  but  I  wish  I  'd  given  her 
a  better  voice,  like  that  other.  What  are  they  do 
ing?" 

"That  is  your  sprite — your  assistant,"  I  pointed 
out.  "He's  attending  to  your  instructions  and 
chasing  the  pretty  soul  and  her  sweetheart,  to 
capture  them  for  the  young  Count,  your  creature." 

"Another  pretty  girl  I  can't  get!  Why  doesn't 
somebody  present  me  as  doing  my  own  courting? 
What  is  that  fellow  about?" 

"He  has  just  carried  off  the  pretty  girl  and 
given  her  to  the  Count,  and  now  he's  enjoying 
himself  by  a  little  acrobatic  exercise,"  I  went  on. 

"Do  I  pay  him  for  that?"  asked  the  Devil. 

"Oh,  those  sprites  and  good  angels  are  not  sup 
posed  to  get  any  salary,  you  know.  They  're  in 
your  power.  You  can  punish  them." 

The  Devil  laughed. 

"And  where  am  I?" 

"You  come  on  later." 

"What 's  this  now  ?    Who  's  that  fairy  ?" 

"She 's  your  deadly  foe.  She  saves  the  pretty 
girl  from  you  and  foils  you." 

"Oh !    So  I  don't  get  anybody  or  anything." 

"In  the  end — no — yes,  you  get  the  young  Count." 
291 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

The  Devil  Then  the  ballet  came  on,  and  there  was  sing 
ing,  and  dancing,  and  acrobatic  work,  and  funny 
conjuring. 

"They  seem  to  be  having  a  good  time,  those 
people.  I'm  the  only  one  who  doesn't  appear  to 
have  any  fun  out  of  it,"  remarked  Lucifer,  sadly. 

"There  you  are !"  I  said,  as  the  husky-voiced 
Devil  came  on  and  growled,  'Conquered,  beaten, 
outwitted !  But  I  will  be  revenged  on  him.  Take 
him  away  and  roast  him !'  And  they  took  the 
shapely  Count  off  to  be  roasted." 

"Is  there "  asked  the  Devil,  with  tears  in 

his  voice,  "tell  me,  is  there  any  widespread  opin 
ion  in  this  world  of  yours  that  that  is  anything 
like  me?" 

"I  am  afraid  there  is,"  I  answered. 

"How  unjust!  How  outrageous!  My  friend, 
tell  them  I  am  not  like  that  I  I  couldn't  be  like 
that !" 

"What  shall  I  say  you  are  like?" 

"Blessed  William  Shakespeare !  The  only  man 
who  ever  said  a  good  word  for  me.  'The  Prince 
of  Darkness,'  he  said,  'is  a  gentleman.' " 

"And  the  character  who  said  that  pretended  to 
be  crazy,"  said  I. 

"You  don't  tell  me!"  said  the  Devil,  very  much 
moved.  "I  thought  he  meant  it." 

"Never  mind,  old  man,"  I  remarked,  to  com 
fort  him.  "We  have  a  saying  that  the  devil  is 
never  so  black  as  he's  painted." 

"I  thought  I  was  red." 
292 


THE    SEEDY    GENTLEMAN 

"You  're  all  colors  except  white.    Well,  yes,  the   The  Devil 
Indians  think  you  're  white." 

"Take  me  to  the  Indians !"  he  said. 

"I  took  him  out  and  gave  him  a  drink  of 
whisky.  It  burned  his  throat.  He  sputtered 
awhile  and  then  said  : 

"What  in  thunder  do  those  people  who  come  to 
me  kick  about  the  heat  for?" 

Then  we  went  down  to  the  dark  ferry  and  he 
caught  the  last  boat  across  the  Styx. 

"Good-night !"  he  said.  "Let  me  know  when  the 
man  that  wrote  that  Extravaganza  is  coming 
down." 


293 


MADAM   PRESIDENT! 


MADAM   PRESIDENT 

The  Seedy  Gentleman  sat  all  alone  in  a  dim    Madam 
light,  looking  out  at  the  moon.  President 

"Why  in  the  dark,  old  man?"  asked  the  Fel 
low  in  the  Corner,  as  he  took  his  seat. 

"I  don't  like  the  garish  light,  that  makes  all 
common  things  look  so  hideously  real.  I  like 
the  glamour  of  the  deep  blue  sky  and  the  white 
moon,"  replied  the  Old  Fellow. 

"Well,  let  us  have  some  of  the  glamour  we  all 
like,"  said  the  Candid  Man,  as  he  rang  the  bell. 
"We  never  tire  of  that." 

"You  may  tire  of  it,"  said  the  Old  Gentleman. 
"We  tire  of  everything." 

"Even  of  living,"  put  in  the  Fellow  in  the 
Corner. 

"No,  we  do  not  tire  of  living.  We  say  we  do. 
We  even  think  we  do;  but  the  most  unhappy 
wants,  in  his  heart,  to  live,  for  there  is  always 
a  hope  that  he  may  be  happy  yet." 

"Don't  get  sad,  old  chap !"  said  the  Candid 
Man,  soothingly.  "You  see  you  can  get  blue, 
even  from  the  sky." 

"I've  been  wondering,"  remarked  the  Fellow 
in  the  Corner,  "whether  or  not  I  really  like  that 
girl  in  the  play  we  saw  tonight." 

"That's  the  greatest  compliment  you  could  pay 
297 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Madam   to  either  author  or  actress.     She  must  be  awfully 

President  true  to  nature.    Did  you  ever  know  a  woman  who 

did  not  make  you,  some  time  or  another,  pause 

and  wonder  whether  you  liked  her  or  not?"  asked 

the  Old  Man. 

"There's  something  very  frank  and  honest 
about  her,  even  when  she  is  concealing  things." 

"That  is  generally  when  they  are  most  frank 
and  honest.  There  are  two  kinds  of  people  we 
cannot  be  frank  and  honest  with — those  we  love 
and  those  we  hate.  When  we  only  like  people, 
with  a  placid  indifference,  we  can  tell  the  truth. 
But  frankness  and  honesty  are  to  be  the  twenti 
eth  century  virtues  in  women,  I  fancy.  They  are 
getting  so  confoundedly  honest  that  you  can't 
believe  them.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  they  have 
at  last,  after  all  those  centuries,  found  out  that 
the  best  way  to  fool  a  man  is  to  tell  him  the 
truth — judiciously.  You  are  right.  That's  what 
is  puzzling  you  about  the  girl  in  the  play." 

"Oh,  I  don't  think  the  twentieth  century  woman 
is  any  different  from  any  other,"  said  the  Fellow 
in  the  Corner. 

"Oh  yes,  she  is !  She  must  be,"  answered  the 
Old  Fellow.  "She  can't  help  it.  The  modern 
girl  is  not  so  much  of  the  hothouse  bud  her  pre 
decessors  were  wont  to  be.  She  is  a  wiry,  hardy 
plant,  grown  in  the  open  air  and  weather  of  the 
world.  She  knows  more  of  men;  she  under 
stands  life  better;  there  are  fewer  surprises  and 
fewer  disillusionments  for  her.  It  is  hard  to  dis- 
298 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

illusionize  the  modern  girl.     And  if  you  surprise   Madam 
her,  you  never  know  it.     Her  innocence  is  most   President 
captivating,  for  it  is  innocence  with  knowledge. 
She  is  shrewder,  wiser  and  more  foolish  than  her 
sisters  of  old." 

"More  foolish?"  queried  the  Candid  Man. 

"My  dear  sir,  is  there  anything  more  foolish 
in  the  world  than  the  wise  man  caught  in  a 
folly?  A  wise  man  may  be  foolish;  even  the  wis 
est  of  women  must.  That's  nature  in  her,  and 
she  likes  it.  The  modern  girl  despises  constancy. 
It  is  obsolete.  Yet  I  imagine  she  is  really  more 
constant  than  those  who  went  before  her.  It  is 
one  of  those  curious  paradoxes  we  meet  with  in 
life,  that  the  more  women  there  are  in  propor 
tion  to  men,  the  more  the  temptation  grows  upon 
a  girl  to  capture  as  many  men  as  she  can.  It  is 
a  kind  of  game  in  society,  I  suppose." 

"I  don't  know,  but  it  seems  to  me  women  were 
always  like  that,"  said  the  Candid  Man. 

"There's  as  much  difference  in  women  as  there 
is  in  their  frocks,"  remarked  the  Seedy  Gentleman. 

"More,  I  should  say,"  said  the  Fellow  in  the 
Corner.  "The  old  fashions  come  up  all  the 
time." 

"Which  would  mean  that  women  are  made  by 
their  dressmakers,"  said  the  Candid  Man. 

"Very  largely,"  said  the  Old  Man.     "No  woman 
is  a  heroine  to  her  dressmaker.     But  I   love  to 
watch  a  woman  living  up  to  her  gown.     The  mod 
ern  girl's  first  education,  her  most  highly  devel- 
209 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Madam  oped  art,  is  to  live  up  to  her  gown.  However, 
President  that  is  a  side  issue.  The  greatest  change  that  has 
come  over  women  in  this  century,  is  that  they  are 
no  longer  afraid  of  men.  They  have  for  hun 
dreds  of  years  been  in  fear  of  offending  the  male 
sex.  They  have  penetrated  our  armor  and  found 
it  buckram,  and  they  don't  fear  us  any  more. 
There  is  a  noticeable  decay  in  the  art  of  wheed 
ling;  it  is  not  practiced,  it  is  not  necessary.  It 
is  imperialism  with  woman  now.  It  seems  to  me 
that  since  midnight  of  1900-1901  I  can  see  a  very 
remarkable  development,  and  it  is  assuming  the 
proportions  of  an  avalanche.  'Madam  Presi 
dent  !'  What  an  ominous  phrase !  Well,  I  dare 
say  we  men  need  a  lesson.  For  years  the  women 
have  been  giving  it  to  us  in  small  doses,  and  we 
would  take  no  benefit  from  it.  Now  we  are  to 
be  the  mere  drudges,  making  the  dross,  while 
they  lead  in  all  intellectual  pursuits.  Never  mind ! 
We'll  never  be  short  of  the  old  kind  of  trouble. 
I  do  not  observe  that  those  federated  women 
have  disclosed  any  intention  of  letting  men  alone." 

"And  is  that  a  proof  of  their  honesty?"  asked 
the  Candid  Man. 

"Well,  not  quite,  but  it  is  a  reason  for  their 
honesty.  They  believe  they  are  our  superiors 
now.  They  think  they  can  afford  to  be  honest. 
They  have  federated ;  they  get  up  and  debate,  and, 
mark  my  words !  they  will  challenge  men  to  meet 
them  in  argument  before  you  are  much  older." 

"They  always  did  that,"  said  the  Candid  Man. 
300 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

"And  they  have  always  had  the  best  of  it,  be-   Madam 
cause    never    having    logic,    they    could    not    be   President 
reached  by  reasoning,"  added  the  Fellow  in  the 
Corner. 

"I  don't  mean  that,"  put  in  the  Old  Fellow. 
"Now  they  have  banquets,  make  speeches,  and 
they  have  already  come  to  proposing  toasts  to  'the 
men*  or  'the  gentlemen'  or  'the  boys.'  Ye  gods  1 
Fancy  the  day — it  is  not  far  off — when  we  men 
will  have  to  file  out  from  the  dinner  table,  out 
into  the  drawing-room,  and  leave  the  ladies  to 
dally  with  their  coffee  and  cigarettes  in  the 
dining-room." 

"Won't  they,  let  us  have  cigars  there?"  asked 
the  Candid  Man. 

"Maybe  not !  We've  been  pretty  hard  on  them, 
and  if  a  woman  can  do  anything  well,  when  she 
gets  a  good  chance,  it  is  to  retaliate.  And,  gen 
tlemen — in  your  ear — let  me  whisper  they  are  beat 
ing  us  at  our  own  exclusive  games.  I  am  told 
the  best  after-dinner  speakers  in  the  country  are 
ladies.  Well,  let  it  go  on !  You  remember  Ten 
nyson's  'Princess  Ida,'  who  predicted  such  great 
things  for  women: 

"  But  trim  our  sails  and  let  old  bygones  be, 
While  down  the  streams  that  float  us  each  and  all, 
To  the  issue  goes,  like  glittering  bergs  of  ice, 
Throne  after  throne,  and,  molten  on  the  waste, 
Becomes  a  cloud  ;  for  all  things  serve  their  time 
Toward  that  great  year  of  equal  mights  and  rights." 

"Well,  we  are  coming  to  some  of  the  predic 
tions.  Perhaps  we  do  not  see  the  thrones  molten 

301 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Madam    on  the  waste,  or  becoming  clouds ;   but  the  Lady 
President    Psyche  is  with  us,"  and  the  Old  Man  quoted : 

"  Thereupon  she  took 

A  bird's-eye  view  of  all  the  ungracious  past; 
Glanced  at  the  legendary  Amazon, 
As  emblematic  of  a  nobler  age  ; 
Appraised  the  Lycian  custom;  spoke  of  those 
That  lay  at  wine  with  Lar  and  Lucumo ; 
Ran  down  the  Persian,  Grecian,  Roman  lines 
Of  empire  and  the  woman's  state  in  each  ; 
How  far  from  just,  till  warming  with  her  theme 
She  fulmined  out  her  scorn  of  laws  Salique, 
And  little-footed  China;  touched  on  Mahomet 
With  much  contempt,  and  came  to  chivalry, 
When  some  respect,  however  slight,  was  paid 
To  woman;  superstition  all  awry." 

"What's  that  you  are  spouting?"  asked  a  new 
comer,  who  had  been  listening,  "a  report  of  the 
Women's  Convention  the  other  day?" 

"Heaven  preserve  me  from  a  woman  who  knows 
all  that!"  said  the  Candid  Man. 

"Wouldn't  she  be  a  charming  wife?"  went  on 
the  Old  Gentleman.  "No,  no!  Let  us  hold  the 
world  back  from  being  all  scientific,  intellectual ! 
I  don't  mind  the  modern  woman  being  an  adept 
at  all  the  delicate  arts  of  true  womanhood.  I 
hope  she  will  never  lose  the  fascinating  imper 
fections  that  make  her  so  adorable.  Let  her  be 
inconstant,  if  she  will !  Let  her  love  today  and 
forget  tomorrow !  Let  her  be  whimsical,  capri 
cious,  absurd,  unreasonable,  inconsistent,  foolish, 
but  let  her  be  the  woman  still !  Nothing  could  so 
take  the  zest  out  of  life  as  to  lose  the  gentle,  irri 
tating,  loving,  exasperating,  thoughtful,  forgetful, 
302 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

sympathetic,   indifferent,  affectionate,  cruel,  alto-   Madam 
gether   maddeningly   incomprehensible    thing,    we   President 
know  today  as  woman." 

The  Old  Gentleman  fell  into  a  reverie,  looking 
out  at  the  moon  for  a  little  while,  and  then  he  re 
sumed,  in  his  far  away  tone : 

"How  will  it  end?  Great  poetry  has  always 
something  of  prophecy  in  it,  and  how  does  Ten 
nyson's  Princess  Ida  end? 

"Ask  me  no  more  1  Thy  fate  and  mine  are  sealed ; 
I  strove  against  the  stream,  but  all  in  vain ; 
Let  the  great  river  take  me  to  the  main ! 
No  more,  dear  love,  for  at  a  touch  I  yield  1 
Ask  me  no  more." 


303 


IN   THE   BRAVE   DAYS 
WHEN  WE  WERE  TWENTY-ONE 


IN  THE  BRAVE  DAYS  WHEN  WE  WERE 

TWENTY-ONE 

"In  the  brave  days  when  we  were  twenty-one !"    In  the  Brave 
quoted  the  Fellow  in  the  Corner,  as  he  took  his    Days 
seat  and  rang  the  bell. 

The  Seedy  Gentleman,  who  had  been  dozing  in 
his  easy  chair,  woke  up. 

"What  about  the  brave  days  when  we  were 
twenty-one?"  he  asked  drowsily. 

"I've  just  come  from  the  play,"  answered  the 
Fellow  in  the  Corner.  "What  a  catchy  kind  of  a 
line  it  is !" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  the  Old  Fellow.  "I  don't 
know  why  we  should  be  so  proud  of  the  brave 
days  when  we  were  twenty-one,  or  why,  indeed, 
we  should  call  them  brave." 

"There  spoke  the  old  man,"  said  the  Candid 
Man. 

"I  deny  the  old.  I  deny  the  old.  Those  old 
sentimental  chaps  were  perpetually  singing  sad 
songs  about  being  forty.  Is  forty  old?" 

"It  may  be  to  a  man  of  forty,"  said  the  Fellow 
in  the  Corner. 

"That's  just  it.  It  is  not  to  the  man  of  forty; 
it  is  to  the  young  that  forty  is  old  age,"  said  the 
Candid  Man. 

"What  nonsense !    Nobody,  unless  he  has  been 

307 


THE   SEEDY   GENTLEMAN 

In  the  Brave  one  of  those  remarkable  freaks  of  genius,  has 
Days  ever  done  anything  worth  doing  till  he  was 
forty.  Yes,  I  dare  say,  at  forty,  twenty-one 
seems  a  long  way  back,  because  we  have  not  lost 
the  will  to  make  fools  of  ourselves,  only  we  have 
reached  the  age  of  sense,  which  makes  us  more 
conscious  of  our  forty  than  observers  are.  I 
don't  think  when  men  really  get  old,  they  talk  of 
the  brave  days  when  they  were  twenty-one. 
What  is  it  about  'all  of  life's  quintessence  in  an 
hour?'  Yes,  and  it  takes  us  most  of  the  rest  of 
our  life  to  digest  it,  so  to  speak.  Most  of  us 
were  young  idiots  when  we  were  twenty-one." 

"Speak  for  yourself,  old  chap,"  said  the  Fel 
low  in  the  Corner. 

"I  suppose  I  might,  but,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  am 
willing  to  admit  that  we  can't — only  a  few  special 
creations  excepted — be  anything  else  at  that  age. 
Did  you  ever  look  back  and  read  the  letters,  the 
poetry,  the  silly  rubbish  you  sent  and  received 
when  you  were  twenty-one?  Ah!  It  was  pleas 
ant  to  write,  pleasant  to  receive  the  trash  then; 
but  don't  you  smile  in  pity  now?" 

"I  never  keep  letters,"  said  the  Fellow  in  the 
Corner. 

"You  are  wise,"  nodded  the  Old  Gentleman. 
"You  are  very  wise ;  but  you  are  lucky  if  other 
people  don't  keep  yours.  I  never  knew  a  man  so 
old  that  he  had  outgrown  the  foolishness  of  writ 
ing  letters.  Yes,  he  may  have  made  it  a  rule  of 
his  life  never  to  commit  himself  on  paper,  but 
308 


THE   SEEDY   GENTLEMAN 

some  time  or  another  some  woman  is  going  to  in-    In  the  Brave 
spire   him   to   break   the   rule,   even   if   she   only    Days 
finds  out  that  he  has  such  a  rule  when  he  is  a 
hundred  years  old." 

"Some  woman?"  queried  the  Candid  Man. 

"Always,  my  dear  friend,  always.  Women 
have  two  manias ;  one  for  breaking  rules  them 
selves,  but  another  more  keenly  enjoyed,  for  mak 
ing  men  break  them.  Never  tell  a  woman  you 
have  made  a  rule  about  anything !  She'll  never 
rest  till  she  has  made  you  break  it  for  her. 
Then — that  is  all  she  wants.  You  can  go  then. 
Never  make  a  rule  anyway !  When  we  are 
twenty-one  we  never  think  of  rules.  That  is  why 
that  period  looks  to  us  so  precious.  Life  becomes 
a  weariness  and  a  bore,  as  soon  as  we  begin  to 
make  rules  for  it.  The  trouble  of  middle-aged 
and  old  persons  is  that  they  are  always  trying  to 
live  by  a  kind  of  time-table.  Don't  do  it!  Live 
anyhow,  nohow,  everyhow !  But  never  set  up  a 
regulation !  It  is  the  curious  curse  of  the  human 
mind  that  it  will  try  to  regulate  things.  In  the 
great  human  domestic  economy  Dame  Nature 
is  the  universal  mother-in-law,  and  sometimes  it 
is  very  hard  to  live  in  the  house  with  her." 

"Oh,  we  must  have  rules  of  conduct,"  said  the 
Fellow  in  the  Corner. 

"Who  ever  lives  up  to  rules  of  conduct?  No 
body!  You  can't.  Things  never  happen  as  we 
expect.  That  is  why,  for  several  thousands  of 
years,  political  economists,  philosophers,  and 

309 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

In  the  Brave  scientists  of  all  descriptions,  have  been  kept  busy 
Days  trying  to  formulate  rules  for  everything,  and  they 
never  work.  Even  the  moral  law  doesn't  suit 
everybody.  Right  and  wrong  are  not  by  any 
means  decisively  settled.  But  never  mind  about 
that !  We  were  talking  of  the  days  when  we 
were  twenty-one." 

"You  didn't  drink  toddy  then,  did  you?"  asked 
the  Fellow  in  the  Corner. 

"No ;  toddy  comes  with  the  grizzled  hair,  the 
quiet  evening,  and  the  contemplative  frame  of 
mind,  which  we  acquire  when  the  girls  do  not  look 
at  us  any  more,  and  we  are — out  of  it.  Youth  is 
the  intoxication,  age  the  headache  after.  And  we 
feel  pretty  much  sometimes  in  age,  about  youth, 
as  we  do  about  the  spree  the  night  before,  next 
morning." 

"Poor  old  chap !"  said  the  Candid  Man. 

"Pity  me  not !"  replied  the  Old  Gentleman ;  "I 
am  not  suffering  yet." 

He  took  up  his  toddy  and  looked  at  it. 

"Even  you,"  he  said,  "can  give  a  headache. 
You  are  a  good,  kind  creature,  but,  like  the  rest 
of  us,  you  resent  abuse.  What  a  strange,  curious 
sadness  is  the  pleasure  of  memory !  The  days 
that  are  no  more!  Were  they  happier  than  now? 
We  like  to  think  of  them;  we  like  to  talk  them 
over.  Isn't  it  a  kind  dispensation  that  softens 
the  unpleasant  and  enhances  the  pleasant  in  the 
past?  When  we  were  twenty-one  didn't  we  suf 
fer  at  all  ?  Oh,  yes !  We  have  forgotten  the 
310 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

hours  of  anguish — anguish  is  so  much  more  in-  In  the  Brave 
tense,  too,  in  youth,  and  it  passes  away  so  much  Days 
more  quickly — we  have  forgotten  when  we  think 
of  the  loves  of  our  young  manhood,  how  bitterly 
we  felt  when  we  were  thrown  over.  We  know 
now  it  was  a  blessing  in  disguise.  If  Gillian  had 
been  true  to  us !  If  Marian  had  not  married ! 
Yet  didn't  we  want  to  kill  the  rival  who  stole 
Gillian,  and  the  man  who  married  Marian?  It 
is  not  that  those  joys  did  not  last !  It  is  that 
they  passed  into  limbo  with  the  brave  days  when 
we  were  twenty-one  that  we  were  glad.  God 
bless  us !  What  troubles  we  had  then !  And 
maybe,  when  the  years  have  gone  and  we  sit  by 
our  toddy  and  recall  them  in  their  fever  and  their 
joyousness,  out  of  the  joys  come  pangs  that  give 
our  hearts  a  little  twitch.  Were  we  always  gen 
erous,  considerate,  kind  to  those  who  were  good 
to  us?  Our  fathers  were  stern;  our  mothers 
sometimes — only  sometimes — ungentle.  Were 
they?  We  know  now  that  they  were  not,  and 
though  we  may  lift  our  glasses  and  pledge  those 
brave  days  when  we  were  twenty-one,  we  know 
that  we  deserved  to  be  kicked — that  we  should 
have  been  treated  ten  times  worse  by  our  stern 
parents ;  only  we  know,  too,  that  from  up  yonder, 
or  here  if  they  be  alive,  we  have  been  forgiven 
long,  long  ago.  'You  were  a  sad  boy,'  the  mother 
seems  to  say,  'but  don't  let  it  spoil  your  memory 
of  your  youth  !'  Forgiveness  !  What  would  any 
of  our  lives  be  without  it?" 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

In  the  Brave       "You  are  getting  sad,  old  chap,"  said  the  Fellow 
Days   in  the  Corner,  gently. 

"I  suppose  we  all  get  sad  a  little  when  we  think 
of  the  past.  Nobody  enjoys  sad  dreams  and  revels 
in  hopelessness  so  much  as  youth.  Didn't  we 
write  sad  poetry — and  bad — when  we  were  twenty- 
one?  Didn't  the  sun  set  and  the  moon  and  stars 
become  one  great  darkness  under  the  cloud  of  a 
broken  heart  once  a  week  when  we  were  twenty- 
one?  Do  not  young  maids,  when  they  are  in  their 
teens,  invariably  rhapsodize  in  sad  verse  about 
the  dreary  waste  life  has  become?  Haven't  they 
always  a  deep  poetic  conviction,  expressed  in 
rhyme  before  they  are  twenty,  that  they  might  as 
well  die,  for  their  life  is  over?  After  all,  were 
they  brave  days  when  we  were  twenty-one?" 

"It  just  occurs  to  me  that  women  don't  sing 
much  about  their  brave  days,"  remarked  the  Fel 
low  in  the  Corner. 

"Women  take  life  more  bravely  than  men. 
They  talk  more  of  their  cowardice  than  men,  and 
no  coward  ever  talks  of  cowardice.  Yet  youth  is 
more  to  them  than  it  is  to  men.  They  always  feel 
they  have  passed  out  of  it  altogether,  years  before 
they  have  gathered  the  best  of  life.  I  think  a 
woman  envies  a  young  girl  more  than  a  man,  at 
any  age,  envies  a  boy.  She  thinks  youth  is  much 
more  in  life  than  it  really  is.  She  watches  for 
gray  hairs  years  before  they  come." 

"I  seem  to  recall  something  like  all  this  from 
Thackeray — somehow,"  put  in  the  Candid  Man. 
312 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

"I  should  not  wonder,"  answered  the  Old  Man,   In  the  Brave 
fervently.     "I  fancy  I  learned  it  all  from  him — and    Days 
1  daresay  it  is  his,  somewhat  diluted  through  this 
feeble  old  brain." 

He  rose  up  and  finished  his  toddy,  and,  standing 
with  his  back  to  the  fire,  went  on. 

"I  don't  know,  but  somehow  I  never  met  a 
woman  who  talked  of  the  brave  days  when  she 
was  twenty-one  in  the  same  way  a  man  talks  of 
that  time  of  his  life.  Women  always  say  'When  I 
was  a  girl,'  or  'I  was  seventeen  or  eighteen.' 
Twenty-one  is  too  old  for  their  brave  days.  But, 
I  think,  somehow,  they  don't  like  to  talk  about  it 
at  all,  to  men.  Well,  I  don't  know  that  men  like 
to  talk  of  their  youth  to  women,  especially  if  they 
have  tender  designs.  It  may  be  that  women  are 
ashamed  of  the  way  they  have  flirted  and  jilted 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing  when  they  were  young. 
Ah,  well !  I  fancy  most  women  have  had  a  ro 
mance  in  their  youth.  They  remember  longer, 
and  more  tenderly,  than  we  do,  and  I  daresay 
every  woman,  when  she  looks  back,  sees  a  little 
tow-headed  chap  waiting  outside  the  school  gate 
to  carry  her  books  for  her  and  squeeze  her  hand; 
or,  even  when  she  is  gray  and  has  grandchildren, 
in  the  quiet  evenings,  when  she  sits  knitting  by  the 
fire,  she  thinks  'When  I  was  a  girl,'  and  out  of  the 
past  a  handsome  young  fellow  comes  to  her  and 
whispers,  'In  the  brave  days  when  I  was  twenty- 
one.'  " 


313 


POVERTY 


ABOUT  POVERTY 

"Yes,"    said   the    Seedy    Gentleman,   sipping   a  Poverty 
spoonful  of  hot  Scotch,  "that 's  about  the  differ 
ence." 

"What's  the  difference?"  asked  the  Practical 
Man. 

"Between  Shakespeare  and  the  others." 

"Well,  what  is  it?" 

"Shakespeare  drew  on  his  imagination  for  his 
facts,  and  the  others  draw  on  facts  for  their 
imagination." 

"Does  that  mean  that  Shakespeare  is  a  liar?" 

"Well,  I  suppose  it  does.  All  men  are  liars.  I 
think  it  was  David  who  remarked  that  in  his 
haste  on  one  occasion.  Yes,  we  are  all  liars,  but 
I  don't  mean  that  application  in  this  case.  A  play 
of  Shakespeare  is  a  fact  intended  to  appeal  to  our 
imagination;  a  play  by  almost  anybody  else  is  an 
imaginative  proposition  intended  to  appeal  to  our 
sense  of  fact." 

"You  're  deep  this  evening." 

"Well,  let  it  pass.  We  have  plays  principally 
because  the  truth  is  always  plain,  not  to  say 
homely.  There  are  some  beautiful  naked  truths, 
but  the  modern  purist  objects  to  nudity  even  in 
truth.  The  French  play  puts  truth  in  a  peignoir; 
sometimes  in  pajamas  or  a  bathing  suit.  In  the 

317 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Poverty  American  plays  truth  is  frequently  decollete;  but 
generally  it  is  dressed  in  a  kind  of  tailor-made 
garment.  What  a  horrible  world  this  would  be 
if  we  could  not  lie !  We  would  despise  one 
another,  but  not  ourselves." 

"You  don't  seem  to  think  much  of  us,"  remarked 
the  Candid  Man. 

"Present  company — you  know  the — lie.  We 
haven't  time  for  accuracy  nowadays.  What  a 
wonder  of  a  witty  comedy  the  'School  for  Scandal' 
is!" 

"A  little  overdone,"  said  the  Fellow  in  the 
Corner. 

"Not  a  bit — where?" 

"Oh,  the  scandal." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it!  There's  just  as  absurd  talk 
to  be  found  every  day.  My  friend,  a  large  number 
of  people  in  this  world  shouldn't  be  allowed  to 
think.  They  don't  know  how.  We  all  think  too 
much.  We  are  so  proud  of  being  able  to  reason 
that  we  resent  facts.  Well,  perhaps  we  're  right. 
There  is  nothing  so  misleading  as  a  fact.  That 's 
what  makes  the  modern  play  so  bad." 

"Why?" 

"Because  the  modern  playwright  as  a  rule  is  a 
man  of  limited  study  of  facts.  He  takes  things  for 
what  they  look  like,  and  fixes  them  unconsciously 
from  his  own  imagination — I  should  say  fictions 
them.  You've  seen  this  labor  play?" 

"Yes." 

"It  deals  with  the  'labor  troubles.'     So  the  ad- 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

vertisements  say.  The  labor  troubles  are  serious —  Poverty 
so  serious  that  they  puzzle  the  cleverest  political 
economists.  But  they  're  simple  pie  to  the  play 
wright.  The  play-writers  will  tackle  anything, 
and  every  one  of  them  has  an  idea  in  his  head 
that  he  is  a  great  performer.  I  suppose  this  man 
really  thinks  he  has  presented  a  great  moral 
lesson.  Well,  perhaps  he  has.  I  don't  see  it.  I 
am  not  a  wealthy  employer  of  labor,  and  so  I 
can't  feel  any  particular  sympathy  with  the  em 
ployer  ;  but — I  don't  know — it  seems  to  me  that 
this  last  dramatist's  working  people  are  so  very 
poor  that  100  per  cent  added  to  their  wages 
wouldn't  do  much  good  to  them.  I  sometimes 
think  that  poverty  is  growing  harder  every  day ; 
not  because  it  takes  any  more  to  live,  but  because 
our  tastes  have  extended  to  luxuries  that  are  not 
even  healthy,  but  are  now  considered  necessities." 

"You  should  know  something  about  poverty, 
by  your  statement,"  said  the  Candid  Man. 

"I  do.  I  have  known  both  poverty  and  wealth, 
and  I  was  and  am  happier  in  poverty  than  ever  I 
was  in  wealth." 

"That's  curious,  isn't  it?" 

"Theoretically  curious — practically,  no.  My 
friend,  the  poor  are  not  so  unhappy  as  you  think. 
You,  sitting  over  your  French  dinner,  look  across 
the  street  at  the  fellow  eating  a  twenty-five-cent 
meal.  It  looks  sad.  You  think,  'What  would  I 
do  if  I  had  to  eat  nothing  but  that  fare?'  Well, 
what  is  the  difference?  A  little  sensation  on  the 

319 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

Poverty  palate;  nothing  more.  The  fellow  on  his  twenty- 
five-cent  dinner  gets  plenty  of  bread  and  butter. 
He  has  his  little  bit  of  meat;  good  enough  meat; 
maybe  not  the  choice;  but  good  enough.  He  gets 
potatoes  and  a  cup  of  good  coffee.  And,  gentle 
men,  you  may  wonder,  but  I  don't  believe  that 
one  out  of  twenty  in  that  cheap  restaurant  envies 
you  your  fine  dinner  so  much  that  it  gives  him  a 
single  pang." 

"Possibly." 

"It  is  the  theoretical  sympathy  that  makes 
poverty  look  so  bitter — the  contrast.  You 
don't  think  the  workingman,  trudging  home  from 
his  work,  can  be  as  happy  as  you,  driving  in  your 
team  to  the  park.  Why?  Do  you  suppose  that 
the  pleasure  you  feel  in  those  luxuries  is  so  far 
beyond  any  pleasure  life  can  have  for  him?  Mon 
ami,  when  you  get  beyond  the  best  of  the  neces 
saries  of  life,  money  does  not  buy  its  value.  The 
workman  looks  up  at  you.  Do  you  see  any  pain 
or  envy  on  his  face?  Not  a  bit  of  it.  He  is 
going  home  to  his  little  house,  his  little  garden, 
his  little  home,  comfortably  furnished.  He  is 
going  to  his  family.  Oh,  yes,  he  may  dream  of 
putting  them  into  a  finer  house,  but  he  has  a  good 
dinner,  and  he  lights  his  pipe ;  and  you,  with  your 
expensive  chambers,  your  fine  cigars  and  your 
sideboard,  never  knew  such  comfort  as  he  enjoys. 
And  you — you  don't  know  his  intense  satisfaction 
at  having  done  a  day's  work." 

"You  make  it  too  poetic  a  picture,  old  man." 
320 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

"N(o.  If  all  the  theories  of  poverty  were  right,  Poverty 
revolution  and  chaos  would  long  ago  have  ruined 
the  world.  Confound  it  all !  I  know  millionaires 
who  live  on  $2  a  week  from  choice.  If  a  million 
aire  can  live  on  $2  a  week  why  shouldn't  a  poor 
man?" 

"Egad,  that 's  true.    I  know  one  myself." 

"The  political  economists  and  the  writers  of 
books  on  the  social  conditions  have  a  kind  of  idea 
that  somehow  there  will  come  a  time  when  wages 
will  be  so  high  that  nobody  will  need  to  work  at 
all.  I  hope  the  workingman  will  get  good  wages ; 
but  pray  God !  that  the  poor  may  never  be  too 
rich." 

"I  see  you  're  a  friend  of  the  capitalist,"  re 
marked  the  Cynic. 

"No.  I  am  a  friend  of  the  poor  man.  One  needs 
to  be  poor  to  be  really  generous,  to  be  charitable," 
went  on  the  Seedy  Gentleman,  looking  into  his 
empty  glass.  "Thank  you  ! — Yes — well — I  have 
seen  poverty  that  was  wretched.  I  have  seen  the 
worst  among  many  classes  in  many  large  cities. 
Terrible !  Yet,  is  poverty  responsible  for  it  all  ? 
No,  I  don't  think  so.  I  think  human  nature  and 
its  weaknesses  have  more  to  do  with  it  than  any 
thing  else.  I  believe,  gentlemen,  if  making  spir 
its  suddenly  became  a  lost  art,  you  would  see 
such  a  marvelous  change  in  the  face  of  nations 
that  you  would  think  the  millennium  was 
coming." 

"Ahem !" 

321 


THE   SEEDY   GENTLEMAN 

Poverty  "No— it  wouldn't  suit  me.  It  seems  to  me  that 
a  sober  workingman  is  generally  prosperous.  Ah ! 
liquor  is  an  insidious — friend.  But  I  don't  know 
— there 's  something  in  the  world  amiss,  to  be 
unravelled  by  and  by." 

"Tennyson  again?" 

"Yes ;  funny  that  the  poets  have  so  little  to 
write  about  strikes — not  since  that  great  strike  of 
Lucifer.  Well,  it  has  been  so  since  the  beginning. 
It  will  be  to  the  end.  Long  after  we  are  dead  and 
gone  into  the  dust,  the  fight  between  poverty  and 
wealth  will  rage  over  our  graves.  Ah,  me !  we 
combine  to  help  people  up — we  combine  to  pull 
them  down.  I  have  a  dim  idea — "  The  Seedy 
Gentleman  had  been  getting  very  thick  of  speech 
and  slightly  unsteady. 

"I  have  a  dim  idea  that  God  did  not  mean  that 
curse  at  all ;  that  he  never  intended  us  to  work. 
It  is  our  cursed  pride,  our  confounded  conceit  of 
superiority  over  the  other  animals,  that  has 
brought  us  to  this.  We  won't  eat  grass  and  leaves 
and  raw  barley  and  vegetables.  I  knew  a  poet 
once  who  lived  in  the  Sandwich  Islands. 

"  'Come,'  he  said  to  me,  'come  to  the  Sand 
wich  Islands !  There  is  no  work  there.' 

'"How  about  bread  and  butter?'     I  asked  him. 

"  'You  don't  need  it.  Lie  down  on  your  back 
on  the  grass  and  look  up  at  the  trees,  open  your 
mouth,  and  Heaven  will  drop  a  banana  into  it.' " 

"He  was  right.  Gentlemen,"  said  the  Seedy 
Gentleman,  crossing  his  legs  after  several  futile 
322 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

attempts,  "we  have  abused  our  gifts  ;  we  have  Poverty 
declined  the  obvious  grub  nature  has  provided ; 
and  plunged  ourselves  into  trouble.  I  believe  the 
first  man  ate  grass  and  thrived  upon  it.  It  was 
gentle  Charles  Lamb  who  described  how  roast  pig 
was  discovered  and  became  very  popular.  It  was 
some  such  accident  that  suggested  the  widespread 
infliction  of  cookery.  We  're  all  wrong  anyway. 
We  were  born  fully  equipped  for  life.  Around  us 
were  all  sorts  of  eatables  that  didn't  need  even 
cultivation.  We  weren't  satisfied.  We  acquired 
a  contempt  for  the  other  gentlemen  and  ladies 
who  lived  about  in  various  forms,  such  as  lions 
and  bears  and  things,  and  killed  them.  Then  that 
strange  instinct,  which  has  since  developed  into  a 
menu  in  French,  induced  us  to  eat  them.  Then 
we  took  to  cooking  them.  And  here  we  are, 
unable  to  live  without  cows  and  sheep  and  chick 
ens,  which  we  have  to  buy.  We  were  not  sat 
isfied  with  our  skins,  beautiful,  wonderful  things, 
soft  and  elastic  and  hardy.  We  had  to  get  grasses 
and  leaves  and  stuff  and  fix  ourselves  up,  till  now 
we  can't  do  without  seventy-five-dollar  overcoats 
and  two-hundred-dollar  sealskin  sacques.  It 's  all 
our  own  fault — all  our  own  fault.  God  did  not  in 
tend  to  put  us  to  all  the  expense  living  costs  to 
day.  I  hope,  gentlemen,"  and  the  Seedy  Gentle 
man  got  up  very  wobbly,  "I  trust  the  next  race 
will  take  the  benefit  of  our  experience,  and  be  con 
tent  to  go  about  in  their  own  skins — and — eat 
grass.  Good  night,  gentlemen!" 

323 


CHRISTMAS 


ABOUT    CHRISTMAS 

"Life  is  only  an  hour  at  a  railroad  junction,  Christmas 
waiting  for  a  train,"  said  the  Old  Gentleman, 
stretching  himself  out  in  his  easy  chair.  He  ab 
stractedly  rang  the  bell  and  was  silent  again. 
They  waited  some  time;  the  Old  Fellow's  mind 
evidently  wandered  off  to  something  else. 

"Did  you  ring,  sir  ?"  asked  John. 

He  gave  a  sigh  and  woke  up. 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "John,  bring  me  in  a  beaker ! 
It  is  nearly  Christmas  time — another  minute  of 
the  hour  is  about  gone.  Some  of  us  have  ten  or 
fifteen  minutes  over  the  hour,  but — well — the  train 
comes  some  time  for  us — and  we  have  no  time 
table." 

"If  we  only  knew  where  we  were  going." 

"It  would  make  some  of  us  very  uncomfortable, 
I  fear.  Better  not  know.  Better  not  seek  to 
know.  We  are  like  small  boys  ticketed  through 
from  place  to  place.  We  don't  know  where  we 
are  to  get  off,  but  the  conductor  has  charge  of  us 
and  he'll  come  to  us  and  say,  'This  is  your  sta 
tion,'  and  we'll  wait  there  till  the  next  train  comes 
along,  spending  the  hour  as  we  do  here,  asking 
idiotic  questions  about  the  place  and  where  we 
are  to  go  after." 

327 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

"Useful  kind  of  thing  this  scheme  of  creation, 
apparently." 

"I  have  no  doubt  there  is  some  object  in  it  all. 
But,  gentlemen,  I  hope  we  still  have  a  minute  or 
two  to  drink  to  each  other  a  Merry  Christmas." 

"Heigho  !  How  the  years  go  by  !"  murmured 
the  Fellow  in  the  Corner. 

"I  sometimes  think  that  time,  like  everything 
material,  gathers  momentum  as  it  goes,  and,  when 
we  pass  the  grand  climateric,  it  hurls  us  down  the 
hill,  as  if  it  said,  'Go  on !  The  best  of  life  is  over 
for  you.  It  is  kindness  to  hasten  you  through  the 
years  of  age.' " 

"But  it  isn't,"  said  the  Practical  Man. 

"I  wonder  if  it  is  or  not  !"  said  the  Old  Man,  in 
a  low  tone.  "It  may  be  best,  after  all,  if  we  only 
knew  the  meaning  of  it  all.  I  fancy  most  of  us 
learn  very  little  after  the  hair  has  turned  white. 
I  sometimes  doubt  if  we  ever  learn  anything, 
anyway ;  so  much  we  have  believed  in  seems  to 
pass  away  in  the  crucible  of  experience.  But  here 
are  the  toddies  !  Gentlemen,  a  Merry  Christmas 
to  you  !" 

They  all  rose  and  clinked  their  glasses  and  re 
peated  the  Old  Fellow's  toast. 

"Let  me  give  you  one  more !"  he  said,  as  he 
stood,  "the  toast  our  old  friend  used  to  give, 
'May  the  Lord  love  us,  and  not  call  for  us  too 
soon !' " 

They  drank  again  and  sat  down. 

"Ah,  it  is  Christmas  once  again." 
328 


THE  SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

"We  have  shared  many,  Old  Man !"    said  the   Christmas 
Fellow  in  the  Corner,  "and  we  are  unchanged." 

"Are  we  not  changed,  even  since  last  Christ 
mas  ?  Are  not  other  people  changed  ?  Partly 
that,  and  partly  that  we  have  developed  perception 
and  see  new  things  in  others.  I  don't  know  why 
fiction  should  be  widely  read.  The  truth  is  so 
much  stranger  and  more  interesting.  I  wonder 
if  the  time  will  ever  come  when  education  will 
have  spread  so  that  only  the  great  minds  will  find 
readers.  So  many  write  books  now,  that  I  can 
fancy  a  time  when  everybody  will  be  able  to  write 
volumes.  In  this  young  age  of  human  spring,  the 
verbum  sap  is  running  gaily.  But  the  great 
students  of  human  nature,  the  great  seers 
of  imagination  will  still  be  God-gifted  above 
their  fellows.  There  is  nobody  who  could 
not  be  made  interesting  put  into  a  story. 
And  everybody  has  a  story.  Some  have  a  whole 
series  of  stories." 

"The  world  will  be  a  whole  library  of  fiction." 

"It  is  a  whole  library  of  truth.  And  yet  what 
is  the  truth  ?  As  you  see  him  or  as  I  see  him  ? 
Which  is  the  true  man  ?  Or  is  it  as  he  sees  him 
self  ?  The  greatest  gift  of  God  is  the  insight  into 
others.  Ah !  It  is  so  old  and  trite  that  we  never 
know  one  another.  But  if  we  tried  !  If  we,  in 
a  broad  spirit  of  charity  set  out  to  give  the  benefit 
of  every  doubt  to  our  fellowman,  to  assume  him 
good — would  we  not  find  the  world  full  of  good 
people  ?  If  we  were  all  ticketed  in  the  world's 

329 


THE   SEEDY  GENTLEMAN 

shop  window,  how  many  now  figured  at  a  dollar 
would  sell  for  a  cent,  and  how  many  marked  at 
next  to  nothing  might  be  worth  their  weight  in 
gold !  That  is  as  true  today  as  it  was  ten  thou 
sand  years  ago." 

"The  truth  never  changes,"  said  the  Fellow  in 
the  Corner. 

"If  we  only  knew  what  was  the  truth.  That  is 
the  trouble.  The  truth  is  most  inscrutable  of  all 
God's  mysteries.  There  is  no  truth  that  is  not, 
there  never  has  been  a  truth  that  has  not  been, 
denied.  But  it  is  Christmas  time.  Is  it  only  a 
legend  ?  Or  is  it  the  God-sent  truth  ?  Which 
ever  it  be,  it  matters  not.  If  it  were  merely  be 
cause  the  celebration  of  the  Christmas  birth,  once 
every  year,  calls  millions  of  men  and  women  to 
a  halt,  and  bids  them  lay  down  all  weapons,  sink 
all  quarrels,  shake  hands  with  each  other,  be 
they  enemies  or  friends,  forget  all  unkindness  and 
love  each  other,  if  only  for  a  moment,  it  is  a  re 
ligion  beyond  all  question  or  dispute.  It  must  be 
God-given." 

"And  then  the  old  feud  begins  again,  and  people 
hate,  and  quarrel,  just  as  they  did,"  said  the  Can 
did  Man. 

"That  may  be ;  but  I,  for  one,  gentlemen,  do  not 
believe  that  little  moment  of  rest,  that  brief  soft 
ening  of  the  heart,  passes  away  without  some  last 
ing  effect.  We  seem  to  face  the  truth,  the  fact 
that  there  is  a  sentiment  that  is  universal  in 

330 


THE   SEEDY   GENTLEMAN 

human  nature,  however  it  may  be  apparently  oblit-    Christmas 
crated  for  a  time  by  passion,  misconception,  mis 
understanding,  or  what  you  will ;  smothered  by  a 
hundred  cares  or  worries ;    a  sentiment  of  fellow 
feeling,  of  brotherly  love." 

"You  are  getting  very  serious,"  said  the  Practi 
cal  Man. 

"Is  is  not  serious  ?  You  see  we  rarely  try  to 
understand  one  another.  We  are  so  sure  of  our 
judgments  that  we  decide  everything  offhand. 
We  take  things  at  their  face  value,  and,  when  we 
find  we  have  made  a  grave  mistake,  it  is  too  late 
to  go  back  and  begin  over  again.  We  are  so 
busy  !  We  take  no  time  to  think;  and,  too  often, 
if  our  friend  does  something  we  don't  like,  we 
think  it  is  deception ;  if  somebody  appears  to  do  us 
an  injury,  of  course  it  is  intentional.  We  are  not 
bad  at  heart;  we  do  not  mean  to  be  unjust  or 
cruel  or  ungrateful,  but  we  have  all  sorts  of  things 
to  consider:  our  own  interests,  our  own  judg 
ments,  our  own  rights,  our  own  troubles,  our  own 
claims ;  and  so,  for  three  hundred  and  sixty-four 
days  we  feel  that  we  mustn't  be  too  much  blinded 
by  our  brotherly  love.  Christmas  comes ;  and 
somehow  it  seems  to  me  it  brings  to  all  people  a 
clearer  view  of  men  and  women,  of  life,  the  true 
life,  the  true  interests  of  themselves  and  others, 
and  the  world  is  better  for  it." 

"Even  the  dun  does  not  collect  a  bill  on  Christ 
mas  day,"  said  the  Practical  Man. 

33i 


THE   SEEDY   GENTLEMAN 

"So  hate,  and  fear,  and  vengeance,  penalty  and 
punishment  stop  at  the  Christmas  tide,  and  men 
come  so  near  to  loving  each  other,  that  it  gives  us 
about  the  only  hope  we  have  for  the  happiness  of 
humanity." 

The  Old  Gentleman  took  up  his  glass. 

"Let  us  drink  to  charity !  It  is  the  season  when 
the  world  stops  to  recall  the  charity  of  Him 
whose  human  form,  nailed  to  the  cross,  the  mean 
est  and  the  greatest  now  bow  before  in  reverence. 
And,  through  nineteen  centuries,  the  gospel  of 
love  He  taught  has  spread  over  the  civilized  earth, 
the  power  behind  all  civilization." 

They  drank  in  silence. 

"Yes,  we  are  being  educated,"  went  on  the  Old 
Fellow,  after  a  pause.  "But  I  wonder  if  what  we 
want  is  not,  instead  of  books,  the  study  direct 
from  human  life,  of  men  and  women.  We  shall 
find  faults  where  we  never  expected  them,  and 
virtues  we  never  dreamed  of  in  the  people  we 
know.  We  shall  wonder  why  we  did  not  recog 
nize  them  before,  forgetting,  perhaps,  that  we 
judge  the  world  by  preconceived  rules,  based  upon 
our  own  character  or  temperament.  If  people 
went  about  confessing  their  sins,  we  would  only 
believe  them  in  so  far  as  our  own  reason  and 
judgment  convinced  us.  How  can  we  expect  any 
body  to  be  honest  about  himself,  since  nobody  is 
perfect  ?  If  the  most  honest  man  in  the  world 
confessed  his  whole  life,  he  would  lose  the  respect 

332 


THE   SEEDY   GENTLEMAN 

of  everybody,  even  if  he  had  only  been  guilty  of    Christmas 
the   most  trivial   offense.     Yes,   they   say   honest 
confession  is  good  for  the  soul,  but  it  isn't  good 
for  the  body.     The  man  who  does  not  confess  has 
still  the  best  of  it." 

"Would  it  pay  to  be  honest  about  one's  self 
anyway?"  asked  the  Practical  Man. 

"No;  why  should  I  tell  you  all  the  faults  and 
sins  I  have  committed  ?  They  were  not  com 
mitted  against  you,  and  if  you  knew,  it  would  be 
as  bad  as  if  they  had  been.  You  would  never 
give  me  credit  for  not  being  capable  of  com 
mitting  them  again." 

"I  wonder  what  we  would  find  out  ?" 

The  Old  Gentleman  rose  up  to  go. 

"Maybe,"  he  said,  in  a  gentle  tone,  after  look 
ing  a  long  time  up  at  the  Crucified  One  in  the  pic 
ture  above  the  mantel,  "Maybe  we  'd  find  how 
true  His  teaching  was.  Maybe  we  'd  understand 
and  realize  our  own  injustice  in  judging  others, 
not  by  ourselves,  but  by  a  standard  we  know  we 
could  not  reach.  You,"  he  said,  addressing  the 
picture,  "You,  to  whose  transfixed  form  and 
haloed  head  those  women  kneel  for  help,  You 
were  the  standard,  yet  You  did  not  condemn. 
We — we  are  so  much  more  jealous  of  righteous 
ness  than  You  were.  You  forgave — we  punish  ! 
We  cannot  wait  till  our  poor  fellow  creatures  may 
reach  the  judgment  seat  and  face  their  Maker. 
'Here,  upon  this,  our  earth,  and  now,  let  the  sen- 

333 


THE   SEEDY   GENTLEMAN 

Christmas  tence  be  declared  and  executed  !'  we  cry.  And 
when  the  day  of  Wrath  shall  come,  will  You 
plead,  as  You  did  when  You  were  a  man,  for 
those  weak  souls  who  have  been  put  to  the  tor 
ture  here,  and  say,  'Father,  forgive  them,  for  men 
have  made  them  suffer  much !' " 
And  the  Old  Man  wandered  dreamily  away. 


334 


A     000  754  072     7 


